Research and Development: The Fourth Wheel
by Fenrir's Daughter
Summary: Project Bluebook is a go and Dr. Tezla's back in his lab. What could this mean for our heroes? A well deserved break from the limelight and a return to the Realms, that's what! Reviews are greatly appreciated!
1. Prologue

A/N: Yeah, so this is the first thing I've published in a little while, and it's pretty much a sequel to the last few things I've done. Mutantsexist, the crews from Vegas are here, Major Wheeler works for SHIELD, bla bla bla...Oh, and this is NOT a musical. There might be some singing later, but this is not a musical. Umm...right.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own AcceleRacers, Highway 35: World Race, Hot Wheels, the X-Men, the Avengers, The Wizard of Oz, or any songs mentioned in this story unless otherwise specified.

* * *

"Dorothy to Aunt Em," the pilot radioed; "We have reached the Emerald City."

This was so stupid! The easiest thing in the world would just be to carpet-bomb this place straight to Hell, but, _no,_ they had to retrieve the "valuable alien technology." This disappointed the pilot, as he wanted nothing more than to destroy these so-called Drones.

According to his briefing, these Drones were sentient robots created for the purpose of—of all things!—racing against living drivers. The pilot did not really understand why an advanced alien race would create something so asinine, but they did. Unfortunately, they also made their creations far too intelligent; the Drones developed emotions and resented their creators for abandoning them. Like a child deprived of a mother's love who goes on to become a serial killer, the Drones had devoted themselves to eradicating every living creature on Earth and finding a way back to their home world to destroy their creators.

For some reason, Colonel Fury thought they would prove useful.

Now that their leader—a Queen Bee of sorts—was out of commission, the Drones were not actively attacking humanity, though as far as anyone knew, destruction was still their prime directive. This was confirmed on the pilot's first pass through the city, as several black and green jets launched and engaged in pursuit.

The pilot announced his bogie, rolled and dived, pulling out of the tailspin just before hitting the road where the supporting ground troops were coming by. His pursuer was not so lucky, but its friends were undeterred. Cannon fire assaulted the heavy gunners down below from the rooftops, and the pilot and his air battalion were being strafed by opposing jets. The dog fight above was handled as smoothly as one can handle such things, but hey lost one pilot. A young man Jenkins took a hit to his left wing and was unable to eject before crashing into a rooftop plasma cannon. The resulting explosion took out three floors of the skyscraper, sending flaming debris miles away and damaging other buildings. Some of the debris landed on Drone cars, but, thankfully, none of it took out anymore SHIELD agents.

"Dorothy to Toto, where the fuck's that scarecrow?!" The pilot was in an increasingly bad mood. The drones were dangerous and needed to be destroyed. For good, for Earth, for Jenkins!! But he had to stay on mission, and the mission was to disable their operating systems—and, unfortunately, every other electronic device in the vicinity—for roughly twelve minutes. Scarecrow was the codename for their EMP, a device that put out a signal; an electronic pulse that would shut down all power and knock out all batteries. That would give them roughly twelve minutes to round up what they could and prepare to infect the Drones operating system with a computer virus, effectively scrambling their hard drives and rendering them incapable of interfacing with each other, until they could be reprogrammed for loyalty to SHIELD. But none of this could take place until they got Scarecrow in position!

Finally, the pilot got the signal. "Toto to Dorothy, the Scarecrow is in the field! Bring the house down on that Wicked Witch!"

"You heard him! All air troops to ground, NOW!"

The pilot and his battalion cloaked themselves to the Drones' equipment and landed unseen, except for by each other, in the shelter if the buildings of Hot Wheels City. And that was when the lights went out.

The sky overhead was a dull gray, and the electric hum of the generators died. The creepy green glow that had once illuminated the city was gone. The agents worked fast, stocking tech in triplicate, quickly and efficiently. The trucks and jets had been placed in strategic positions so agents could case each tower for what treasures they could find, and each agent was equipped with personal cloaking devices in the event that the reconnaissance should take longer than the time allotted.

The mission went as planned, and as soon as the Drones were back online, they were immediately infected. The jets, trucks, and power grid still worked, but the Drones shut down of their own accord, leaving the agents to bring them back through the portal to Earth. Once there, they would be studied by SHIELD scientists who would determine if they could be used.

And while this round up took place, the air troops stayed behind with most of the ground troops, just kicking around and exploring the city.

The pilot paced a circle around the tallest building—"City Hall," he thought of it as. He allowed his mind to wander just as his body did. The pilot was a simple man who had grown up in a war torn country, constantly at odds with someone or another since the day of his birth. He had seen some pretty strange things in his time with SHIELD, met and married an even stranger woman, and made strangers into friends. But surely, this place, this pocket dimension was the strangest place he had seen. At least so far, anyway.

His radio suddenly crackled to life, and he snapped to collie-like attention that can only come from military discipline, listening intently.

"Commanding officers to grid point Alpha-Charlie-Alpha!!"

"Whatcha got?"

"Believe me, sir," the voice said. "You're going to want to see this for yourself."

The agent was just on the other side of the building, the equivalent of two blocks, and the pilot was there in a few short minutes. What the agent had to show him shocked and amazed him.

From the facial features, it had once been a black man. Typical eerie green wiring had replaced some of the hair braided in careful rows, and only the head, chest and left arm were still flesh. His lower body had been replaced with Drone parts—a robotic right arm, robotic legs and hips, a robotic abdomen. The tone of his flesh was now a dull gray brown, as if the electric impulses that kept his brain functioning also kept his flesh from rotting as quickly as a normal corpse.

This was the strangest thing he had seen, _so far—_for there was always something even more horrendously weird around the corner.

"They matched the face to SHIELD archives," Major Wheeler said, appearing next to him. "Brian Kadeem, peace activist, son of a tribal chief from the Darfur province of Sudan. He was one of Tezla's drivers."

The pilot nodded grimly. "Poor lad. Whaddaya think we should do with him?"

"The mission was to bring back anything unique," the Major said. "I think this more than qualifies."

"Right then. Let's load him up."

* * *

The last thing Kadeem remembered was falling a good eighty stories to what he thought for sure would be his doom; his robotic components would be crushed, he thought, and he would cease to function. Though he was out of commission, it was only because his battery was knocked loose. His robotic components had broken his fall, saving his decaying flesh, and still come through the ordeal relatively undamaged. And now he was conscious again. But where was he? This…laboratory, it seemed, was not of the Drones, for it was not bathed in the eerie green glow. Where could he possibly be?

And where were his Drone components? He was strapped down to a table with only one arm, wire hanging from his abdomen. If he was missing that many pieces, how was he aware of it? How was he even thinking any of this?

And then, _he_ stepped out of the shadows; the man, that God-forsaken old Jew, who had started the whole mess.

"Dr. Peter Tezla," he said with venom, surprising even himself. Kadeem knew he should not be functioning or aware, and so did not expect to be able to speak.

"Kadeem," he said, his voice laced with some human emotion. Could it possibly have been remorse? But Kadeem would have nothing of remorse. Emotions were human things, and that part of his existence was over.

"Why did you reactivate me?"

But Tezla ignored the question. "I'm glad to see you're still around, Kadeem," he said. "I couldn't have lived with myself if—"

"If something had happened to me?" Kadeem asked dryly.

"Yes, well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Kadeem." The doctor's blue eyes were sad but knowing, and Kadeem remembered Haziz.

What had become of the blind seer? Of Kadeem's people? But he knew he should not bother with such thoughts.

"I understand you blame me for this," Tezla said, "but I want to help you, Kadeem."

"Help?" Kadeem laughed bitterly. "I am beyond your help, human."

"You are not so far gone as you believe, Kadeem." Tezla took a seat on Kadeem's right side, looking into his robotic eyes. He took a deep breath. "There are strange things in this world, Kadeem. Things that remain hidden, will not be acknowledged, but exist nonetheless. I work for SHIELD—"

"Strategic Hazard Intervention, Espionage and Logistics Directorate?"

"That's correct. We have agents and scientists working on every weapon and medical problem you could possibly imagine. Many special agents employed by SHIELD are mutants, and in particular, many are psychic. I managed to pull some strings, and I really do think we can help you, Kadeem."

"You keep saying that, human," he spat, "but that does not make it so. Why should I believe you wish to help me?"

Tezla was quiet for a bit. "You served me faithfully because you knew what was right, and you life was in danger because of it. I was…so concerned with the fate f the world that I lost sight of the individual lives in my hands, It's only right that I do what I can for you."

Tezla paused, but Kadeem said nothing.

"If you tell us what happened to you in the Drones headquarters, everything you learned, we have been given permission to clone you a new body and have a psychic transfer your consciousness into the specimen."

Kadeem looked up at Dr. Tezla with wide eyes. He allowed himself to hope for a brief moment before crushing it back down.

"You'll be just as you were before. You could go home as if none of this ever happened; you could live again."

"Live…?"

Kadeem missed the open road; driving through sandstorms in the Sahara, saving the lives of villagers from militia men and acute illness alike. That was, in fact, how he became so skilled behind the wheel. In his war torn, not-quite-yet-modernized homeland, the African prince had driven everything from dune buggies to Dodge Chargers; anything to get to the scene in time, anything to save lives.

He had once been a good person; a kind and caring individual with a great respect for life. And now…he was not even human. But Tezla could change that. Kadeem knew of mutants, of how powerful they could be, and what a far-reaching world security organization like SHIELD could easily accomplish if they were required to do so. Even if the old man lied, Kadeem knew he would be no worse off than he was now, and still Tezla's eyes mist with regret, with the need to make good on a promise.

"I could go home again," he said aloud, and had he tears to shed they would have trailed gently down Kadeem's cheeks.

"If you tell me what happened, what Gelorum told you, I can help you."

The dull green glow of Kadeem's robotic eyes seemed to soften. He looked up at Tezla and smiled.

"Then I will help _you,_ Doctor," he said, and began his tale.

* * *

A/N: WHEEEEEE! I actually published something! Yay for me indeed. As always, read and review, and I promise I won't take more than...twenty seven days to update. I say twenty seven because it is more than twenty one and I like numbers that end in seven. Toodles!


	2. Desserts in the Desert

A/N: Yeah, so, in today's news, my mother is doing great. Her surgery went fantasic, they didn't even completely put her under. Radiation treatment started today, but she should be just fine. Thanks for all the love and support, and keep reading my stuff because it warms my heart.

* * *

Alec and Vert high fived and did their stupid secret handshake, just like always.

"Oh, man, what a year!" Alec said with a laugh. "Touring the country, skating and surfing, hanging with awesome bands—and righteous babes!!"

"Life has been good to us," Vert agreed. "I can't believe how quickly time flies by."

"Did I mention the babes?" Alec asked. "Seriously, Vert, I don't think you were paying attention when I said righteous babes. There were so many babes!!"

Vert laughed. "Alec, you think about chicks way too much."

"And you don't think about chicks _enough._ I'm starting to worry you might be gay." Vert scowled, but this was just the response Alec was looking for. "I'm just messing with you, Vert. Anyway, I know there was one girl you were thinking about. Every second of every minute—"

"Alec."

"—of every hour—"

"Shut up, Alec!"

"—of every day," he finished.

Vert scowled. Finally, he called to his brother. "Mikki, can I borrow your fangs?"

"Not if you're going to bite Alec!" the Goth twin called.

Vert swore under his breath. Alec looked him over carefully, soon after shifting his gaze to Mikki. He shook his head. "It's still so weird that there are two of you," he muttered. "Wait, why does he have fake fangs?"

"Mikki's going to meet his vampy girlfriend later. You know how weird he is about bringing dates home."

"Probably because he doesn't want us to see the puncture wounds."

Alec laughed at his own joke and immediately regretted it. Vert gaped at him, absolutely horrified, and Alec realized that while what he said had been funny, it was also true. The pair shivered.

It had taken more than a while to get used to the idea of a second son of Jack Wheeler existing, much less that he was so dramatically different than his brother. Pale of skin and dark of thought, Mikki had been born Gustav Yuri Wheeler and switched with another child in the hospital, forcing him to grow up in Madam Olga's Home for Unwanted Children under the name Mikhail Ilyich Kalishnikova. The life had been devastating, and the boy would not have made it out alive were it not for an actual suicide attempt. He ended up in a psych center, and later, a caring foster family made up of an aging Beatnik, his Flower Person wife, and an older but smaller and weaker boy named Angie.

Speaking of whom, Alec yelped as the little drummer boy's face peered down at him from a boulder. Angie was hanging upside down from the miniature cliff by his bare toes and grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Angie was always doing things like that. He just couldn't help himself; he was, after all, crazy as a loon in June. Occasionally, he would walk on his hands, commune with animals or even talk to people who were not actually there. But he never harmed a soul. Angie Halloran was weird, but he was also a firm believer in nonviolence and love of all creatures.

"We seriously need to find you a babysitter," Alec said.

"Babysitters have way too much authority in this society," Angie said, dropping down, standing up, and brushing himself off. "And authority is a power trip."

"You're weird."

"Why, yes, I am. Thank you for noticing." He grinned wildly, bouncing his eyebrows. "Now let's go party!!"

Alec gave a cry of surprise as young man grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the site of a very large bonfire. Situated a safe distance away were the various vehicles of only the closest friends of the Foundlings. It had been just over two years since "Get Lost" hit the market; it was a screaming success, as was the follow up released nine months later, "Revenge of the Foundlings." Their third studio album, "Desert Moon Apocalypse," was slated for release in two days, and the official release party was the next evening. But it had been so long since Nona, Angie and St. Jimmy got to just hang out with their friends that they decided to have their own party, under the full moon.

Metal Maniacs and Lost Boys filled their little patch of cracked desert earth, and tables covered in food and drinks formed a crescent moon near the catering truck from Pietro's Diner. Originally, they figured Vlad would take care of serving, but the solitary baker had never been much for parties. No, Vlad Girda had sent along three cut ups who commonly worked the dinner shift; three crazy Latverian dudes who loved to party and definitely put passion into their meals.

Porkchop, for one, was not complaining about the change. He ate like a starving Elvis impersonator at a Vegas all-you-can-eat buffet. He might have been a little more polite about his eating habits had he known Lexi Onoprienko, whom he had neglected to call for the past three months, was staring at him so coldly.

Alec planted his feet and pulled back, finally freeing himself from Angie's grip. "Yo, getcha cracker hands off me, you psycho!" He glared at the drummer indignantly for a moment before turning back to Vert. "Seriously, though, Vert. If you like her then just say so. What's the worse that could happen?"

"She could shoot me down in flames in front of everyone here and laugh in my face," he answered, a haunted look in his eyes. "I can't do it, Alec. Not tonight…I'll just wait a little longer, and then—"

"And then it'll be too late. Man, so what if she does say no? You'll never know unless you ask her! I've watched you tear yourself apart over this for two years and I'm sick of it. Cowboy up, Vert! Go talk to her!"

"A coward is incapable of exhibiting love," Angie said wisely. "It is the prerogative of the brave, because to express your feelings is risk. Without taking risks, you gain nothing."

Vert and Alec stared at him blankly. Angie, unperturbed, shrugged and smiled. "No?" he asked. "Ah, well, they can't all be gems."

"Well, how about this one, then?" Mikki asked. "A kick in the ass is still a step forward!"

Alec grinned and gave Mikki a sly look. They ganged up on the other blonde and dragged him toward the picnic table. Angie only smiled and watched the spectacle as Mikki and Alec made a show of laughing and joking to cover up Vert's protests. With a final hearty laugh, they gave Vert a good shove so that he ran into Nona.

Alec and Mikki laughed over the distressed yelps as Vert fell on top of Nona, sending them both to the ground. The blonde blushed, quietly apologizing and getting up.

"Watch it, surf rat!" she hissed, shoving him away as he tried to help her up. Nona rolled her eyes and stomped off.

Vert started to follow her, but the wicked glare she shot him made him think better of it.

Alec Wood to the rescue! "Oh, my goodness, Nona, are you okay?" he asked with phony concern. "Girl, I am so sorry. We were just playing around when we pushed Vert. We didn't mean for him to hit you like that."

"Totally accidental," Mikki chimed in, nodding. "We didn't even see you there. It's just so dark and OH MY GOD!!" His eyes bugged out of his head. "DJALI! YOU PUT THOSE KNIVES DOWN RIGHT NOW!!"

Alec stared in confusion. "He's…he's juggling…"

"Come on. We gotta stop him," Mikki said, grabbing Alec, but the larger young man shook him off.

"I'm not going anywhere near him," he said adamantly. "He's got a _knife._ In fact, he's got several!"

Yelling for Alec to not be a pansy, Mikki dragged him off. Angie no longer watched them; he now held a long stick and was giggling quietly to himself as he poked and prodded the bonfire.

Porkchop sidled up to Angie and sat. He greet the little drummer boy, who shrugged, smiled, and continued to poke at the fire.

Porkchop was glad to be among friends after being on the road for so long. Still, as he saw how amused Angie was by the flames, he could not help but feel he had forgotten something…

"We need marshmallows," he said suddenly, and went back to the snack table.

* * *

Vert shuffled awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Nona…I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to—"

She smiled. "Naw, it's cool, surf rat," she said. "Alec and Mikki already took the blame. What kind of woman would I be if I stayed mad after that?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Alec, that's enough!"

"He threw a knife at my head!!"

"Great party huh?"

Nona laughed. "Oh, yeah, totally excellent."

Vert laughed right with her. "Listen, I know you have the company party tomorrow night, but if you're not busy the day after that—"

Nona raise her eyebrow in skepticism.

"—or maybe next Friday? ...Maybe we could go somewhere, just the two of us. It might be nice…"

Vert trailed off, his heart sinking at the look of annoyance that graced Nona's features.

"Vert, you're a nice guy."

"…But?"

"You're not my type," she told him flatly. "I'm sorry, Vert, but I'm just not that into you."

Vert scowled. "Meaning you're still into Jimmy."

"Oh, don't _even_ go there."

"Too late. I went there. I went there _and_ I bought the t-shirt."

Nona glared. "I'm gonna ignore that because I know you're upset." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "You have to understand, I've been friends with Mikki for so long. Dating someone who looked just like him? That would be…weird. Even weirder than dating the real Mikki because you're so not what I'm used to."

"I'm not Mikki!! I'm an entirely different person, dammit!"

"I know, Vert, but there are some things about you two that are absolutely the same."

"There are even more things about us that are absolutely _not_ the same," Vert insisted. He snapped his fingers as the realization dawned on him. "Mikki never could beat you in a race, right? I bet I could."

Nona clenched her teeth and forced a smile. "Oh. Do you now?"

"I do."

"No way.

"Way," he said with a defiant smile. "In fact, our cars are here, so why don't we settle this right now? If I win, you go out with me."

Nona stifled a laugh. "As if that'll ever happen."

"What's the matter? Afraid you'll lose?"

Her eyes burned with rage, and she shook Vert's hand, accepting the challenge.

"I'm gonna tear you a new one, surf rat."

"You're on, brown sugar."

* * *

A/N: OHHHH NO! He did NOT just cal her "Brown Sugar!" Oh, Vert has some serious pain coming to him. Teehee. Read and Review, my pretties!!


	3. Love Is Like A Car Crash

A/N: I forgot to mention it in my original disclaimer, so I should probably tell you all now:

**DISCLAIMER!!** Though the _Marvels Among Us Saga_ does take place in my own personal universe of AcceleRacers/World Race combined with the Marvel Comics universe, I, Fenrir's Daughter, am **COMPLETELY IGNORING THE EVENTS OF THE MARVEL CIVIL WAR AND SECRET INVASION.** for those of you not in the know, this basically means, **#1: The Super Human Registration Act has not made it to Congress. #2: There has not been an intense disagreement ending in a war between superheroes who support the SHRA and those who oppose it. #3: Captain America has NOT been assassinated. And finally, #4: The Skrull Army, who happen to be extraterrestrial shapeshifters as well as religious extremists, have not inveded Earth.**

And so, to recap, Captain Amercia's alive and the aliens haven't invaded yet. Danke!

* * *

Taro shook his head, exasperated by the surf rat's stupidity. "This won't end well," he said. Mel glared at the older Metal Maniac and knocked him playfully in the back of his head.

"Thanks again, Captain Obvious," she sneered. "How could this possibly end well? He asks her out, she says no, so he goads her into a race? As if!"

"A lady is not a prize to be won," growled Wylde, shaking his head in disapproval. Mel cooed at how sweet he was and the pair cuddled, ignoring the revving engines around them. Soon enough, they had begun the "I love you, I love you more, no _I_ love _you_ more" argument. Tork rolled his eyes and barked that the two young racers loved each other equally and for them to please shut up.

Angie shook his head sadly. "Taro's right, of course," he said. "No matter who wins, we all lose. Vert's screwed seven ways to Sunday. Stick a fork in his ass and turn him over; he's done."

"Oh, Vert," Karma said, disappointed. She had always hoped he was smarter than this, but he just didn't use his head sometimes. And now it was far too late for him to apologize. Even if he did win, there was no way this girl would ever forgive him. Karma sighed. "I wish Kurt or Nolo were here. They're the only ones who could talk some sense into him."

"Too bad they're still in France," said Taro.

Karma nodded sadly. The Teku were basically disbanded when Shirako's sister, Saiyaka, had dragged both her brother and Nolo Pasaro to the Cannes film festival. Shirako said he needed a break from Kurt, but after a few lonely days, he followed the younger Teku to declare his love. With Vert on tour, Karma was the only one who remained. And even now that he was home, it might has well have stayed that way. They didn't hang out the way they used to, and they were never really that close to begin with.

Karma was pretty much a solo racer now; a driver without a team, too proud and too easily annoyed to join the Metal Maniacs. Times like these, she thought of following Saiyaka and the boys to Paris, but…

Taro put his arm around her protectively, and she smiled. How could she ever dream of leaving?

Angie cowered ever so slightly. "I hate it when my friends fight…"

* * *

Vert revved his engine, cursing his temper. There was no way he could win. Sure, he might win the race, but Nona would never forgive him for provoking her into such a wager. And what if he lost? He would never live down the shame of making such a complete and total ass of himself for a girl, and Nona would _still_ hate him until the end of the world. He might as well have handed her a can of mace, pointed at his own eyes and been done with it.

But there was no way Vert could back down now. Even at that very moment, he could feel Nona's eyes burning away; imagine her knuckles gripped tightly on the steering wheel. She was going to bury him.

Anya Onoprienko, resplendent in black leather, stepped majestically to where the starting line had been marked. She carried a pirate's flag, as per the Lost Boy's custom. It felt as if the whole world watched as she sized up the divers and raised her arms.

This was truly it, Vert thought. There was no turning back.

With a flourish Anya brought down he Jolly Roger, and Vert gunned it. He and Nona screeched into the night like bats out of hell. He pulled just next to Nona, scoping her out, trying to get a feel for her abilities.

Nona used the blonde's distraction to her advantage, slamming into the right side of his pickup. Even with the larger vehicle, Vert was easily muscled aside, falling back a length. Nona shifted smoothly and accelerated ahead.

Vert swore under his breath and kept going, struggling to catch up, and decided there was no shame in giving as good as he got. Speeding and shifting, he kept up until he was tail-gating her. Vert smashed the back of the passenger side and pulled up next to Nona.

The pair scooted and scraped, grinding the car and truck side by side, neither giving up and inch. Sparks were flying and Vert grinned down at Nona. Scowling, Nona jerked hard on the steering wheel and sent Vert into a pile of rocks. Unfortunately, she could not pull out of it in time and crashed right with him. The Ram and the Trans Am sputtered and stalled with a squeal of breaks and busting glass.

Angie clutched at his hair and howled, scrambling for his van. Those watching the race were filled with an immense dread as they approached the scene. The Lost Boys chattered with concern in multiple languages, and Mikki became very aware of the spiked bracelets on his wrists. Whenever he felt very sad or frightened, he could feel the scars beneath throbbing and had to fight off the need for a blade.

Nona stepped steadily from her driver's side door, her face betraying only righteous anger.

"Baby girl, you alright?" Tork asked mildly, checking out his younger cousin. There wasn't a scratch on her but her hands trembled. Angie and Lexi fawned all over her, battering Nona with questions and queries about her health.

Mikki and Alec bounded into the bed of the pickup to check on the blonde. He was dazed, but conscious, and blood trickled down his forehead as he fumbled with his seatbelt.

"Can you get out of there on your own, Vert?"

"The, um, doors are jammed," he slurred.

"Right," Alec said. "Mikki, help me pop out this back window. We can carry him out through there."

Though Vert insisted he did not need to be carried, he was gently lifted out by the two young men and made to sit in the truck bed. Alec gingerly turned his old friend's head, inspecting the damage.

"Cut's not too bad," he said softly. "But you could still have a concussion. We should get you to a hospital."

"No hospitals. I want to finish this. Now."

"Vert, your truck is totaled."

"I don't care, Alec! If I can't drive this one then lend me yours!"

"Vert, you're in no condition to driver. Stop being an idiot."

"I may be an idiot, Alec, but I'm an idiot who's in love!" Vert turned to Nona, his cheeks burning; he had completely forgotten she was standing right there.

Tork snickered, but his little laughs turned into a coughing fit when Nona elbowed him in the stomach.

"Love or not," she said frigidly, "You're still an idiot."

Nona popped her hood for a quick inspection, slammed it down and started the Trans Am once more. She looked coldly at Vert as she pulled around.

"I warned you I'd tear you a new one, surf rat," she told him.

Vert held his head in his hands and sulked. Mikki sat next to him, like a dark reflection in the mirror.

"So," he said. "You messed that up royally."

Vert slowly turned to look at his brother, not at all amused. "You're a jerk, Mikki."

"So are you. Hey, we really are identical."

Angie popped his head up over the side of the truck bed, standing on one of the tires. "Vert, are you hurt?" he asked.

"Only my pride…"

"Oh, okay, groovy. Who's that guy?"

Vert blinked. "What guy?"

Angie indicated the screen of Vert's onboard computer, which displayed video footage of a scholarly looking man with white hair.

"Greetings. Because of the amazing skills you possess, you have been chosen to participate in the Ultimate Race."

"Oooo sounds like fun."

Alec shushed the drummer and listened intently. A similar message had popped up in Vert's car once before, almost four years prior. As a matter of fact, the same message was being broadcast and recorded to several cars across the continent, including a few in that same desert.

"Drivers from every walk of life have been recruited. An eclectic mix, if you will. We must work together in order to shatter the limits of conventional racing. I am once again looking for the greatest driver in the world…If that's you, then follow the map on the GPS screen."

* * *

A/N: God help me, but I almost called this race the "Secret Grand Prix." Can you believe that shizznit? I just couldn't come up with a better name. That's why I took so long to post! I couldn't have put this up with a crappy name like "Secret Grand Prix" for the race. Ughhh. I know Ultimate Race was one of the movies, but it sounds a heck of a lot better than Secret Grand Prix. Plus, I was already planning on calling the next one...Oh...wait, I can't tell you that. Oops. Anyway, read, review, cuddles, my nephew got born, his name is Dominic James, his eyes are gren, his hair is black, he doesn't cry much but he watches your every move like he's constantly learning. Adorable. Just adorable. Oh, yeah, plus my grandparents are coming up from Albuquerquee this Saturday and they'll be here until May 10th.


	4. Prelude to a Grand Adventure

A/N: Weirdest thing: I got my tarot cards read on Tuesday, and apparently, my long-dead Grandmother thinks I need to quit slacking off and get my act together. Wow. That is so strange... And now, back to our heroes as they party in the desert. Huzzah.

* * *

Mikki raised his eyebrows. "Heavy."

"Tezla, Tezla, Tezla, why does the name Tezla sound so familiar?" Angie wracked his brain. "I swear I read something in _Scientific American_ by a Dr. Tezla…"

St. Jimmy sneered in recognition. "Isn't Dr. Tezla that weird old dude in the Nehru jacket who's dating Nona's mom?" The sainted guitarist expertly dodged the wrench thrown at his head without looking. "Yeah, that's the guy. Damn. He's old. Like, old enough to know the lyrics to elevator music old."

"Shut up, Jimmy!"

"Eat me."

Taro observed this exchange, half exasperated and half amused. How they managed to keep things together throwing around such insults (and hardware) was beyond him. The former Osaka racing star was much more reserved than his young friend, almost shy. He would never consider acting out in such a manner, but this was commonplace with the Foundlings. St. Jimmy had explained it like this:

"Oh, you know us sensitive artists… this is how we play!"

According to Jimmy, he and Nona were like a brother and sister now. They annoyed and teased each other just for laughs.

Taro blinked as he realized his brain had completely glossed over a very important part of the conversation and leaned towards Tork.

"Tezla's dating your aunt?"

A quick glare told him to drop the subject and Taro nodded lightly with his usual solemn expression.

Demitri moved to address the Maniac leader, flanked by his girlfriend on one side and the Dinner Shifters on the other.

"What's all this about a race, Tork?"

"Jah! Vas isst?"

"Quiet, Bjorn," he hissed, hushing the Latverian. "This sounds like something big, even for the Metal Maniacs."

"Bigger than all of us," Tork confirmed. "Sorry to have to cut the party short, but we gotta move some metal." Tork raised his Drone arm, beckoning his drivers. Taro, Porkchop, and Wylde took to their cars and Mel to her motorcycle.

Demitri hollered something in Russian and the Lost Boys prepared to leave. The Dinner Shifters packed up the remains of the feast.

"We'll shadow you," Demitri told him.

Tork only shook his head. "This is supposed to be secretive, Ostrog. You weren't called. We were."

"I wasn't asking your permission, Maddox," he answered. "Besides, if this is as big as you say, you'll need all the drivers you can get."

"Ehrrgan meeghen flahrggen husker du!"

"Quiet, Bjorn!" Fucking Latverians…

Nona, Jimmy, Angie and Mikki left the Lost & Found short three Foundlings and a Lost Boy, so Demitri had found himself creatively recruiting as of late. Anya's sisters were very talented, though Tasha had declined to join, and three cut-ups from Pietro's Diner were so crazy they were up for anything. They showed quite a bit of promise, the Dinner Shifters, but Demitri had almost forgotten how annoying they could be.

And now, he was stuck with them…

* * *

Bjorn Werbbenn Jaagermann Jenssenn's parents were originally from Sweden but had moved to Latveria before he was born. He enrolled at the Latverian Central Institute for Higher Learning, located near Doomstadt. He and Jaakko were both majoring in engineering there. Or at least, they were before the rebellion.

The oppressive monarch of Latveria disappeared, leaving the throne up for grabs. And though Victor Von Doom's underlings tried to maintain control of the nation, the peasants elected to celebrate their newfound freedom by rioting in the streets. Bjorn and Jaakko barely made it out of school before it was burned to the ground. The pair of them were sure they were going to die, but a lone Gypsy showed them a secret way out of the city and into the Von Doom mountain range, where they escaped south to Symkaria.

The Gypsy, whose name was Djali Zorbitzin, lost his entire caravan in the Latverian uprising. Some were lynched by peasants; others, shot by police and thrown into mass graves.

It was a ghastly, terrible affair, and the three expatriates, lead by Djali, decided to help out anyway they could. They ended up smuggling refugees into Symkaria, Serbia, Romania, Hungary, and sometimes as far as Croatia if they had to. When Doom returned from God only knows where, the three freedom fighters went to an American embassy in Bucharest and applied for green cards. Somehow, they wound up in Vegas, working twelve hour shifts at Pietro's diner in Little Moscow.

In high school, Demitri and Mikki had both worked their butts off at Pietro's, waiting tables to earn extra cash, and the Dinner Shifters even then were crazy. Shouting at each other in four different languages; waving knives around, even making dinner with guns on the table when mobsters were eating in the restaurant.

"Well, okay, that's their life story," Alec said dryly. "But I still don't get why we're bringing the caterers."

"Dude, do you have any idea what kind of moves you need to outrun the Latverian Secret Police?" Mikki asked. "The Dinner Shifters have _mad_ skills. They may not seem like much but they aren't guys you want on the away team."

After several hours driving through the desert the racers thought for sure they were lost; after all, the GPS had brought them to a military base. A chain link fence, fifteen feet high and topped with barbed wire, stood before them and seemed to go on for miles. At the gate were two jeeps with SHIELD insignia, loaded with armed guards. The guards eyed them with obvious suspicion. They were so close Mel could smell gun oil and hear safeties clicking off, and she shivered.

"Right, then. Who's asking for directions?"

"Shut up, Angie!"

Vert was on the verge of panic by the time he saw the third jeep approaching the main gate from the compound in the distance. He prayed his father had nothing to do with any of it, but he had no idea.

They had to be ready for anything…

From the back of his head, Angie thought he heard an appreciative chuckle, and someone who was not there whispered a suggestion; something disgusting and terrible. Horrified, the drummer checked the time and popped a pill. The stranger in his eyes muttered with disapproval. Angie gripped his steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

There was a bit of a commotion amongst the guards who piled efficiently out of their jeeps. The gates of the base slid back automatically. The third jeep pulled over, and the driver stepped out.

Tork's jaw dropped in shock as painful memories came flooding back to him. His rage was so intense that he could not move. Before the Maniac leader stood the subject of his nightmares, clean and whole. That God-forsaken blood traitor.

Kadeem.

Kadeem stepped forward with a jovial smile so many of the drivers remembered so well. But by all means, this was a smile that none of them expected to ever see again. While with the Silencerz, Alec had anguished over the archive footage of Kadeem being lost in the Storm Realm. Vert felt such a terrible guilt over failing to rescue the African prince he unknowingly gave his twin brother sympathetic nightmares. Tork himself had damned a semi-robotic Kadeem to Hell for the torture he took part in under Gelorum's command. Yet, here he was, warm and friendly, as if none of that had ever happened.

"We have been expecting you," he said. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the guards. They saluted, grudgingly loading back into their vehicles and heading for a compound in the distance.

Vert was the first out of his car, his face pale as a sheet. He had to make sure it was real and not some crazy dream.

"Kadeem? Is it really you?"

"We thought you were a goner," Alec stated, almost immediately at his side.

Kadeem nodded grimly. "More far gone than you can imagine, my friend."

Those among them who had known and cared for Kadeem in the past were soon at his flank, checking to see that he was truly all there. The very last Metal Maniac to reach Kadeem—for though Mel was generally the most cautious, her curiosity got the better of her and she was quickly upon him—was Tork. For a brief moment, a connection forged of pure unadulterated loathing came across their eyes, but Kadeem managed to compose himself and maintain a friendly face. Tork, on the other hand, preferred honesty above all else. And he honestly hated Kadeem.

The leader of the Metal Maniacs usually wore a leather jacket to cover up his Drone arm; the sight of it simply raised too many questions—questions he was not prepared to answer. But now he let the robotic appendage gleam in the light of the rising sun. He wanted Kadeem to see what he had done and remember what he had put Tork through. If there was a shred of decency left in Kadeem, a teeny tiny part that felt any kind of remorse or shame, Tork wanted that part to burn.

"Nice outfit," he said. "Last time I saw you half those corn rows were wires. You clean up real nice…for a blood traitor."

Kadeem stamped down a pang of guilt, unwilling to get into a fight. He was sick and tired of being surrounded by violence, and all he really wanted was to go home. Still, he felt a great hostility toward this man. Finally, he looked up at Tork.

"I am sorry for what happened to you, but you must understand I was at a point where I had no choice." They stared at each other, their animosity filling the air with tension. "But I am glad you stopped me when you did. I owe you more than you can possibly imagine—"

"I don't want your apologies," Tork growled. Kadeem narrowed his eyes.

"He is not worth it, Kadeem," the old man chided. "Would you be so foolish as to leave the city of your fathers behind for something so trivial? You know what you did was wrong. Now you have made it right and you are free. Do not jeopardize that!" Angie rushed between them, his eyes pleading.

"Peace! Peace, brothers, can we not live in peace?" he begged. "An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind. Violence won't solve anything! Please, you guys, we're working for a common goal here! What about this Tezla guy?"

Kadeem eyed him carefully, and he and Tork stared each other down for another moment before both finally took a step back. Tork looked away.

"Dr. Tezla," said Kadeem "has new information I obtained from my time with…_the Drones…_ That information, along with collaboration with Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four, has resulted in a major breakthrough in his research. And now SHIELD has finally allowed Project Bluebook to get back on track."

"And now you're here to drive for Tezla again," Tork stated rather than ask, but Kadeem shook his head.

"I'm going home," he stated plainly. "I've had more than enough adventure to last me through this lifetime. And now that I am safe and free, I wish to do nothing that would endanger that besides protecting the people I love."

Kadeem clapped a firm hand on Tork's shoulder and they locked eyes again, but Kadeem's gaze was soft. "I have no fight left in me, Tork. It is all up to you now."

For a moment he glared, but eventually, he nodded, looking to the other drivers with renewed confidence. "Let's move some metal," he said. They loaded back into their vehicles, but Angie lagged behind.

"If you do not hurry, you will miss your friends."

Angie only smiled at the gentle warning. "Thank you for helping to calm him down…Haziz."

The old man's sightless eyes widened with shock. "You can see me?"

"You can see him?" Kadeem echoed. "But…how?!"

Angie stared up into the sky. "I've got my ways," he said; he looked back at Kadeem and winked. But Kadeem was no longer in a friendly mood.

"What is your game?"

"Kadeem," Haziz whispered. He could hear soft laughter and the flapping of wings. "Leave him be. Something is not right."

"Very perceptive of you, old man," murmured a beautiful woman, her voice dripping with venom. "Much unlike my son here. He's a rather stupid boy; a useless, whining dog with no sense of reality. He's as naive as his father."

Kadeem's gaze flitted to the woman with the ice blue eyes who taunted and sneered at this driver.

"You miserable dog, you're in deep now," she said. "You know they'll never let you leave…"

An appreciative chuckle echoed through the empty space where there should have been no echo at all, and the other specter flexed his leathery wings. "Don't worry, Angelo," the shirtless figure lilted in his childlike coo. "Even if we do become trapped here, we can always _burn this place_ to the _ground._ Oh, what fun! I can already smell their fat sizzling in the flames! I can already taste their screams!"

He laughed more loudly and viciously, baring his fangs, his waist length hair covering his eyes completely. Kadeem took a step back as a precaution; even Haziz had the heebie-jeebies. Angie forced a smile but his pain was obvious.

"You're so lucky to have an angel looking over your shoulder, Kadeem," he said, "when so many of us have only devils to call our own."

"Poor, sweet child," Haziz intoned, shaking his head. Angie smiled, and this time, it was genuine.

"Compassion is for the weak and pitiful, like you. Wretched, idiotic _weakling…_"

"Mother, I am trying to have a conversation here," Angie stated through clenched teeth.

Haziz scowled at the vicious woman, muttering in his native language. Mrs. Halloran eyed him in a way that reminded Kadeem unpleasantly of Gelorum. "Why don't you leave him alone, you cow?" Haziz spat.

"Because I'm all she has left," Angie sighed. "Take good care of each other, you two. Have a safe flight."

The draconic figure laughed and grinned at them. "Hope you crash and burn," he giggled.

"Devinn!"

"What? I didn't do anything!"

The apparitions faded away as Angie climbed back into his van and followed his friends to the compound. As he watched the drummer go, Kadeem heard Haziz say precisely what he himself had been thinking.

"What a strange young man."

Haziz himself began to fade and Kadeem counted his blessings. How fortunate he was to have friends who cared about him and looked out for his best interests. How wonderful it was to be alive. Most of all, how happy and grateful Kadeem was to be going home. There was a gust of wind and a great jet landed; an SR-77 blackbird with green shamrocks on the side. Kadeem's ride was here.

"Top o' the morning' to ye," the pilot said, waving, when Kadeem had boarded the plane. Kadeem gave him a friendly smile and they were soon on their way.

* * *

A/N: I always thought Kadeem deserved better than he got. I know it's farfetched, but hey, if Aunt May can be engaged to Doctor Octopus, this works for me.


	5. Don't Shoot, I'm Only a Mad Scientist!

A/N: Okay, so I should probably explain that one line in my closing Author's Note last chapter. At one point, Spider-man's Aunt May inherited an island with a nulear reactor on it. In order to gain access to this reactor, Dr. Otto Octavius, AKA Doctor Octopus, wooed May Parker and asked her to marry him. Much to poor Spidey's disgust, she said YES. I know. Eew. But the marriage was eventually foiled, in the same issue, by Spidey, who also got to fight Wolverine for the first time! Anyway, here goes chapter four. Woohoo!

* * *

"Dude!" Alec exclaimed, slamming his driver's side door. Further back in the garage was Banjee Castillo; the former Road Beast was leaning against his car and talking with Dan Dresden. The pair turned to face Alec with a friendly expression.

"Esto es una locura," Banjee muttered with a grin. "Alec, how you been, man?"

"Great, man, just great."

"Yeah, I'll bet, with all the money you've been making skating for the Twisted Tour."

"Don't forget all the girls I'm getting, Dan-o," Alec answered. "Oh, damn, I didn't think there _were_ skater groupies, but there ya go! Time of my life, guys, time of my life."

"Hey, hey, the gang's all here!" Dan exclaimed. "I figured the Acceledrome crew would show up but who are all these other drivers?"

Alec quietly, and as discreetly as possible, pointed out Vert's identical twin brother Mikki and his friends, the Lost Boys—"Russian Goths," as Alec described them.

"That's a whole lotta woman," Dan commented upon seeing the Onoprienko sisters. "Those two are built like Terminators."

"Yeah, just your type, Dresden."

"Bite me."

"Better not let any of the Lost Boys hear you talking' like that," Alec warned. "They might actually bite you. You didn't hear it from me, but Mikki's really deep into vampirism and the occult."

"Spooky…"

"Yeah, I call him 'Bizarro Vert,'" Alec said nonchalantly. He then quickly indicated the three drivers in chef coats. "Those are the Dinner Shifters. Basically, they're short order cooks by day and street racers by night. I guess everyone needs a day job."

* * *

"Sacoola shtara kanito!! Vas isst du?!"

Vert tilted his head to the side in confusion. "What did you just say to me?" he asked. He turned to his brother. "Dude, did he just call me a name? What did he say?"

"I look like I speak Latwerra?"

"Relax, comrades," Djali said, and the Latverian Romani put up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Bjorn simply wants to know vat is going on here. I must admit that I, too, share his curiosity. We did not get big picture from Demitri, and from the way people talk, you are having somzing to do vit zis, jah? You have driven for zis Tezla person before?"

"Ve only vish to know vat to expect," a larger man said; he like Djali and Bjorn, wore a chef's coat over a t-shirt and jeans. His hair had been bleached blonde at some point but his roots were showing. He stared at Vert with cold, dark eyes.

"And you are…?"

"Jaakko," he said. "Just Jaakko."

"Uh, right…_Jaakko…_I understand your concern, but I don't know If you'd believe what I have to tell you."

"Try me, comrade."

Vert looked back and forth between the four of them with no idea what to do next. In the end, however, his only choice was to tell the truth. Even Mikki stared at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Vert inhaled deeply, and Mikki, Djali, Jaakko and Bjorn leaned in close with anticipation.

"Right, so—"

Vert was suddenly interrupted by the roar of engines as two cars bearing the mark of the Road Beasts thundered into the garage. "Oh! New arrivals!" he chirped. The Dinner Shifters groaned, and Mikki sighed.

"Must you always be so pleasant?"

"We can't both be the evil twin, Mik."

"I dunno about evil but I sure know who the stupid twin is."

"Yeah…hey!"

"Shturggen flavska bierk dass!"

"Bjorn says you walked right into that, comrade," Djali advised, and they all had a laugh at Vert's expense.

Just as the drivers of the last two cars were scoping out their new digs, a third car rumbled in and parked dangerously close to the Metal Maniac vehicles; a bold move indeed. The decal on the hood was a flaming skull with crossed wrenches behind it, and the caption read "SCORCHERS."

But Banjee completely ignored the third driver; the first two were the only ones of interest to him. These familiar faces warmed his heart almost instantly.

"Es, Skeet! Aquì! Over here!" he called out, waving his arms. "Calling all Road Beasts!"

Skeet grinned as he slapped Banjee five. "Great to see ya, Banjee. Man, I shoulda known you'd be here!"

Laughing, so happy to see each other, Esmeralda couldn't help but give each a great big hug.

* * *

"Krakatoa," Taro said. "Good to see you."

Tork and Nona stared at each other, trying to keep from cracking up. _"Krakatoa?!"_ The cousins burst out laughing, leaning on each other for support.

"'Krakatoa,' oh boy," Tork snickered, wiping a tear from his eye.

Nona laughed. "Jeez, Craig, you think that up all by yourself or did your mommy help you? HA!"

Taro raised an eyebrow. "You know each other?"

"His mom and her mom are my mom's sisters," he grumbled. Indeed, Krakatoa, the former #35 of the Scorchers, was really Craig Tennyson of Seattle, Washington. He picked the pseudonym 'Krakatoa' because it was a volcanic island in the South Pacific. At the time of the World Race, he thought that was clever. But now the sound of his younger cousins' laughter was getting to him. He snapped, just as he always did.

"Y'know what? Y'all two are just jealous 'cause _my_ daddy actually stuck around after I was born!"

Tork's usual level-headed demeanor disappeared yet again; his father had always been a sore subject. "Yeah, well you're ugly and yo momma dresses you funny."

"Yo momma so ugly, she could scare all the chrome off a bumper."

"Well, yo momma's lips are so big Chap Stick had to invent a spray!"

"Yo momma's so dirty she brushes her teeth with chewing tobacco!"

"Bitch, yo momma's teeth are so yellow, when she smiles, all the cars slow down!!"

"Yo momma so nasty, she joined the Four Horsemen," Krakatoa growled; "War, Pestilence, Death, Famine, and YO MOMMA."

Tork glared with disappointment. "That was low, Craig," he said. "Even for you."

In spite of himself, all Taro could think was _'Oh snap…'_ These two cousins, these descendants of the great delta bluesman Catfish Maddox and a former gun moll named Doreen, stared each other down, neither one giving up an inch. They gnashed their teeth, practically growling with their aggression towards one another. Even as small children, even when they were still known as little Craig and Tommy, respectively, Krakatoa and Tork had never really gotten along, just like their mothers before them. And though she had not yet been born at the point their quarrel began, Nona took Tork's side.

But just when the action was getting good that damn dirty rat's voice came over the public address system in the garage. That old Jewish guy, the one her mother called 'Petey-boo' like some pathetic school girl with a crush. Nona forced herself to listen, even as Tork and Krakatoa backed down from their fight.

"Welcome to my new base of operations, SHIELD's own Area 53. Now that the Wheel of Power is back in our possession, and with the gracious help of Dr. Reed Richards—"

"Woo! Go Big Brain! Fantastic Four rule!!"

"—I have discovered that by using the Accelechargers, I can open any Racing Realm at will. Not just the Realms experienced by those of you who drove at the Acceledrome, but the original legs of Highway 35, as well as a few new areas that have yet to be explored."

The sound of a door opening, too far off and far too quiet for a normal human to take notice of, reached Mel's ears, and she sniffed. To be sure, she sniffed deeper and repeatedly before her eyes widened in surprise. He was here!

"Mel, what's wrong?" Wylde whispered. He learned long before to heed Mel's feelings. What some might refer to as feminine intuition, Wylde knew were actually enhanced senses due to a genetic mutation. Whenever there was something wrong, Mel would know and warn her teammates in advance.

"Uncle Nicky!" she hissed. "Nick Fury! He's here!"

"We must continue to push racing to its limits, and beyond," Tezla continued. "You are the best at what you do—"

"Which is why I won't accept failure," interrupted the colonel. The man had slipped in unnoticed, save for by Mel and Wylde. He wore the same uniform as all of the guards—a black and white jumpsuit (it appeared to be made of Kevlar) with white boots—but he was older, as illustrated by the gray hair at his temples, and his left eye was covered by a patch.

"Colonel—"

"Shaddup Pete," he said. "As soon as an interstellar race becomes involved, failure ceases to be an option. These Accelerons are far more advanced than anything we've ever encountered before. This'd be a pretty longwinded setup for a trap, but that's the genius of it. Ya gotta proceed carefully. This is Special Agent Abigail Brand, Director of SWORD."

Angie snickered. "The government and its acronyms. Honestly…"

"Sentient Worlds Observation and Response Department," the green haired woman said. "SHIELD is pretty busy with the problems on _this_ planet, and someone needs to keep and eye on the others. That's why SWORD was formed in the first place—to observe and respond to life forms from other planets. These first steps when encountering a new race are crucial. Messing up now could trigger an intergalactic incident. But, hey, no pressure…"

"Guards will be on duty in this facility twenty-four/seven. I'm not taking any chances here after what happened with the Silencerz. No one gets in or out."

"What?" Tezla gasped. "Part of our agreement of me working for you again was that there would be no military presence. Guards would—"

"Part of our agreement was also that I wouldn't shoot you in the face," Fury replied. "Keep usin' that tone o' voice, Doc, and that could change real quick-like."

Tezla took a step back, eyebrows raised. He made no further protests after that.

A guard came running towards Fury just then, out of breath, and saluted. "Col. Fury, sir! The Hulk is on a rampage at the Mall of America. Massive casualties are already being reported at Frederick's of Hollywood and Johnny Rocket's. It's a slaughter!"

Fury swore under his breather before relaying his plans. "Evacuate the mall and the surrounding suburbs. Have Cape killer units five, eight, and nine on route circa _yesterday._ Send in the Avengers! Captain America, Hawkeye, Black Widow, Iron Man, Wasp—is Thor still MIA?"

"Unfortunately, sir."

"Then send in Ares. Prep the Helecarrier and have two thousand troops on standby for rescue and cleanup." Fury began moving briskly towards the exit. "Tezla!"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Include the interns in your research. I want to be able to trust you on this, got it?"

Tezla grumbled and crossed his arms. Fury snapped at him.

"Use your freakin' interns! Don't make me tell you again." He turned back to Agent Brand. "You comin,' toots?"

Brand shrugged. "Why not? I've been meaning to pick up a few things."

"Let's go to the mall," Fury growled ominously, and they were off.

With final dominant glares and threats, the high ranking government agents left, the armed guards the only trace of them.

"Thought they'd never leave," Alec spat.

"Yeah," Dan murmured. His thoughts turned dark as he eyed the guards. "But they'll be watching."

Tezla's very presence demanded the entire garage's attention as he strolled down the catwalk. "I have every confidence that you will succeed in everything you set out to do," Tezla told them. "I know you're ready for a race…but what about your cars?"

* * *

A/N: By leaps and bounds, my best line this chapter was: "Let's go to the mall." Heheh. Said the right way, it sounds both ominous AND hilarious. You should have heard my boyfriend say it in his Duke Nukem voice. He was so cute!!


	6. Get Ready For the Big Dog

A/N: Usually, I wait for at least one review bfore I update. But it has been....three? Four days? HOLY SHNIKEYS!! Almost a whole darn month with no reviews!!! I feel seriously inadequite right now :( But I suppose I just have to accept that there are younger, hipper writers in the AcceleSection and all my readers have moved on. Oh well. Here is the enxt chapter. If you don't like it...well, who the fuck reads this crap anyhow?!

* * *

Before they could enter the racing realms, the drivers would have to properly modify their vehicles. Soon, the work was underway—installing Nitrox boosters and Emergency Driver Returns was not as difficult as the newbies expected, but of course, there were your average tune-ups to contend with as well.

Even if Angie was completely insane—which he was—there was no denying his skills as a mechanic. The little drummer boy's first job was as a mechanic at a garage, and later he worked at Ostrog & Co., the garage owned by Demetri and Anya. He was great with tools, and anytime one of the Lost Boys had a problem they couldn't fix by themselves, they consulted Angie. He was almost psychic when it came to engines, and there were just some times when only his level of expertise would do.

This was one of those times.

"I just don't know what's going on with Silhouette," Jimmy said with a shake of his head. "She's still running, but something doesn't sound right."

"I'll take a look, Jimmers. Don't worry."

"She's my baby, Angie."

Angie gave the saint a good look before asking Jimmy to start the car. Silhouette was an exquisitely restored 1963 Chevy Impala that St. Jimmy had painted as purple as his own hair. With a gentle disposition, Angie put his ear to the hood and listened carefully. But after only a moment, his eyes went wide and he stood up straight.

In a panic, Angie called out, "Cut the engine!" He opened the hood and swore under his breath when he burned his fingertips.

Jimmy looked down at him with concern. "Angie, what's wrong?"

"I'm gonna need a bowl of tuna fish and some warm milk."

"Uh, Angie…this isn't really a good time for lunch."

"Yeah, I know," Angie said, "But this kitten I found in your manifold is half starved. Poor thing!"

Jimmy ran over to where the drummer stood, and indeed, he was holding a bewildered looking kitten. The stray was covered in so much motor oil they were unable to tell what color its fur was. Even as Angie and Jimmy tried to calm the kitten down, it screeched and turned in their hands. The kitten landed on its feet and ran across the garage, before finally clawing its way up Taro's back.

Taro sputtered in surprise; just a moment before he was in the middle of a pleasant conversation with Karma Eiss, and now there was a cat sitting on his head. A _cat._ Sitting on his _head._ Karma giggled.

Taro narrowed his eyes and grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck. "Bad kitty," he said, and placed it on the floor. The cat quickly scrambled back up to Taro's shoulders and reclaimed its place on top of his head. Taro groaned in frustration.

"Awwww, Manny likes you!" Angie said. He and Jimmy made their way over to Taro and Karma. Karma giggled again.

"…Manny?"

"Because I pulled it out of Jimmy's manifold. Poor thing's scared half to death," he said. Angie cooed and spoke gently, trying to remove the cat from Taro's head, but had no luck. "Wow, Manny's really stuck on there. Huh. Well, Taro, I guess you've got a new best friend."

Taro's eyes widened. "What? No! Get this thing off of me!" He tugged and pulled on the frightened kitten, which only screeched and dug its claws deeper into his scalp. "Ow! Get it off! Get it off!!"

Soon enough, Tezla's voice blared over the PA system that a racing realm was about to be opened and Taro finally gave up. He had no choice but to take the kitten with him.

Banjee snickered when he got to his car. "Ah, Taro, you got a little something…" he said, indicating the top of his head. Taro only glared.

* * *

Tezla watched the monitors in the control room and tried to ignore the bothersome interns Fury had demanded he include. Their credentials were excellent. Each had studied his work extensively and had degrees in every field from advanced robotics to quantum physics. Some were in fact certified by the think tank at the Baxter Building, having worked along Reed Richards and Sue Storm. But all of their combined intelligence did nothing to ease Dr. Tezla's mind. Dedicated to their work as they were, there was still a distinct possibility one of them could be a spy.

He liked to keep his work to himself; that was just how he was. And, really, who wanted a bunch of punk kids crowding their laboratory? His research was progressing just fine when he wasn't being targeted by assassins, and that wasn't happening too often anyway. Tezla just wanted to watch the numbers and figure things out on his own, not baby-sit a handful of grad-student underlings.

But, alas; you use what you have to work with.

"The symbol for the racing realm you've chosen doesn't appear anywhere in the data we were given." A bright eyed girl posed the query to Tezla; eager to learn, she had her clipboard at the ready.

"Fern, right?" When she did not correct him, Dr. Tezla assumed he had used the correct name. "The data you were supplied by SHIELD only includes the realms human drivers have already been through. In addition to these, there were several realms the Drones completed before any humans became involved. That's why the notes didn't cover it."

"Then which realm is this, Dr. Tezla?"

He brought up his own data on the monitors. "The Realm of Eternal Night," he said in a sinister way. "According to data recovered from the Racing Drones headquarters, and the inscriptions in the Monument and Ruins Realms, the Realm of Eternal Night is in a time stasis that keeps the moon perpetually full. The fog is thick, the roads are slick, and the creatures that inhabit it are purportedly the most vicious of any realm."

Fern cringed. "Glad I'm safe here in the lab."

Indeed the live feed from the drivers' onboard cameras showed the Realm of Eternal Night to much resemble Transylvania in any Dracula film, complete with creepy decrepit castles. Tezla said nothing, but he fully agreed with Fern the intern.

* * *

Night Prowler roared through the portal first, and Taro was surprised to see Morrison the car closest to his tail. But surely that would soon end.

In the driver's seat of Morrison, Angie slowed down gently to get a feel for the road's moist conditions. He flicked on his high beams and vaguely wondered if he was hallucinating as Porkchop Riggs and the Wheeler twins passed him by. He got an ominous feeling as something let out a howl into the night.

A three-way fork in the road was coming up. Angie was thinking he should turn right, but a little hissing voice laughed and he heard wings again. He shrugged. "A reasonable enough request." Angie pulled a hard left and followed Taro Kitano.

Taro's view flicked briefly to his rearview mirror. Angie was catching up to him. Taro up shifted as he went into a curve, but Angie swung around and passed him by in the outside of the turn. Taro was seriously annoyed. He scowled and muscled his car against the van, leaving scratches against the psychedelic mural.

"Ack! My paint, you jerk!" Angie leaned into his wheel and really put it to Taro's vehicle. While Night Prowler was a monster of a muscle car, it was little match for Morrison's engine power. Angie didn't just keep the van for storage capacity—he'd worked on that baby's inner machinations until she was a proud vessel worthy of the Lost Boys. And what's more, Morrison was really big.

Taro's car ground against the guard rail and the kitten hiding under the passenger seat cried pitifully. Obviously, aggression wasn't going to work. He'd have to out-maneuver the drummer, but how tough could that be? He had years more of experience, his car was smaller and seemingly more agile, and Angie had never driven in a realm before.

But Taro would learn soon enough not to underestimate a crazy person.

* * *

The cold fog bit against Mel's legs and she made a mental note never to ride her motorcycle in a skirt. In the LA summer it was okay but this icy moisture in the air was whipping past her at close to a hundred and twenty miles per hour and it was really cold!

Bemused laughter came over the comm link in her helmet from several different cars and drivers.

"I see London, I see France," a voice lilted in a sing-song tone. She recognized it as Banjee Castillo. Great. Now her skirt was flapping up and everyone could see her panties. This was made all the worse by the fact that Mel had been planning to surprise her boyfriend after the party in the desert and what she wore was red and frilly.

"Oo lala," Dan teased over the line. "She's gonna put you through your paces tonight! Markie, you stud."

"Hey! You better watch it, Dresden!"

"Oh, I'm watching, all right. And I like what I see. Yowza!" Dan chuckled. He knew it was cruel to tease Mel like this, but how could he resist when she made such an easy target? Really, it was the girl's own fault—who in their right mind wore a skirt on a motorcycle?

A howl was just then let loose into the brisk night air. Dan's eyes flitted into the forest on his left for only a moment. Something was running alongside their cars in the woods. Lots of somethings, actually…big, furry somethings.

Mel screamed as a big wolf-like creature leapt from the trees onto the hood of Wylde's car. Thinking fast, she extended her claws and leaned her motorcycle closer to Demonizer. With a snarl, she ripped into the side of the realm beast. It howled in pain. Wylde drove on, and Mel followed.

"Kitten!"

"I'm fine, Markie. Just hit the Nitrox!"

The wolf thing was not dead, but terribly wounded. Its blood spilled on the road, and as it let loose another spine-chilling howl, a chorus rose up from the woods to join it.

"Aw, man, it's a whole pack!"

Eight gigantic wolf-things ran ahead past their fallen comrade. Even as the vehicles thundered along at incredible speeds, the beasts caught up rather quickly. Paws the size of tractor tires pounded along the track after the drivers, hammering down on the pavement below. Wylde actually allowed Tork, Banjee, Alec, Vert, Mikki and Nona to pass him.

"I'll help run interference," he said over the link. "Just go! We'll hold 'em off."

But in all the confusion, Dan fell to the back of the line. The wolves were on his trail, snarling and snapping their massive jaws at his bumper. Dan said a Hail Mary and used his Nitrox booster, but it did him little good. An enormous paw slammed down on his back window and his car spun out of control and went over the guardrail.

Now on the forest floor, Dan's car slammed into a tree. His head hit the steering column and he grunted in pain. Dan relaxed and did a quick check of his faculties; thankfully, he seemed uninjured. But his car would not start, and he could hear the wolves behind him. They moved slowly now, closing in on their disabled prey, circling and snapping their teeth.

The tree opened its eyes and glowered at Dan, making a sound strikingly similar to human laughter. Long, twisted roots smashed through his windshield and Dan screamed. The roots wrapped around his waist and pulled him out.

"Dan!" Markie called out. "Dan, what's happening?"

Dan choked as the tree roots tightened around his throat. Things were getting darker. The moon and stars began to fade from his vision.

"We're coming for you, Dan! Hold on!"

Dan stopped struggling against the roots. He just had no fight left in him. So tired… But the evil trees loosened their grip and he inhaled deeply. Dan was wide awake now that he could breathe again. But why hadn't the evil trees killed him?

The answer came in the form of a wolf; he was even larger than the rest and missing an eye. Battle scars ran through his blue-grey fur, and he snarled and whined at the tree. The tree, in turn, made sounds at the wolf; after a moment, the evil tree dropped Dan to the ground, whereupon the alpha male allowed the three smallest wolves first dibs. The little wolflings must have been just pups to receive such a courtesy.

Dan backpedaled away, silent for his extreme fear. This was probably going to hurt. _A lot._

Dropkick rumbled over the top of the hill, followed by Demonizer. Mel darted in and around the wolves' feet, clawing at ankles. Wylde rammed into the smallest wolf just as its teeth were scissoring through Dan's washboard abs.

The giant wolf cub was knocked aside, a mouthful of Dan still clutched in its jaws. Dan had pulled away and rolled free for the price of a piece of hisself. Wylde threw open the passenger door.

"Hurry up!" he hissed.

Dan clamored into the front seat, heart pounding double time. Wylde drove off before he even got his seatbelt on.

After they finally got away, Wylde asked if Dan was alright. He glanced in the older driver's direction. "Man, you're bleeding all over the place! I'm hitting the EDR."

Dan grabbed Wylde's hand, and he looked at the injured man in surprise. Dan Dresden was pale, sweaty, and dazed, but on his face was an expression of resolve.

"Finish the race, Markie," he croaked.

"Dan, you're hurt. You need—"

"I need you to finish the race for me, Markie." Dan coughed a few times, and his hand came away bloody. "Call it a last request…"

"Dan, I'm worried about you," said Markie.

"Isn't your girlfriend still back with those things?"

"Yeah, but she has mutant super powers." Grudgingly, he saw Dan's side. "Fine, just-just keep pressure on your wound. There's a blanket under the seat."

There was honking behind them—Mel pulled alongside Demonizer on her motorcycle.

"Did they follow you?"

"Kinda hard to run when someone's severed your tendons. How's Dan?"

"Lousy. I want to hit the EDR, but--?"

"Finish. The. Race. Please, Markie, do that for me."

Though concerned for Dan, Mel respected his wishes. "You heard him, Markie. You'll just have to make it out of here fast enough to make sure he's okay."

Wylde smirked regretfully and put the pedal to the metal.

* * *

A/N: I so hope someone actually reads this. Please! Pretty please with sugar on top!! I'm so lonely...


	7. Silent and Unexpected

A/N: Okay, Now I'm starting to get offended. It's been more than a month and not a single review. Hmmph. Well, fine then. I'll finish my story, and I'll let it get as rediculous as I want. Since no one's reading this, I'm officially writing this for me. Meaning things might just get a little weird. Especially since I completed the next three chapters or so already.

* * *

"_...'CAUSE A'M THUH SPEEEEEEEED KING! DUR NER NER NER NER, SEEEEEE MEEEEEEE FLYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"_

"Yeah! Hahah!" Angie stuck to the center of the road, hitting every apex and deftly avoiding the demonic-looking vines and tree roots that pursued the drivers.

Karma had deduced that the main skill needed to win this realm was driving the perfect line. Of course, to Angie, this only meant driving the perfect line was the best way to avoid the evil trees. For once in his life, it seemed something he perceived as being despicably evil actually was just that. Going as fast as he was in the pea-soup fog, Angie did have some trouble making out the guard rail, but he had a noisy little advantage the others did not.

"This way, Angelo! Onward, upward, outward!" Devinn chuckled. "Don't stop now! This is bat country!!"

Angie gaped at his driver side mirror in terror. After a moment, he spoke over the comm. link, his voice trembling. "Is it just me, or do those flying things behind us look a lot like Dracula's wives in that movie 'Van Helsing' with Hugh Jackman?"

Karma glanced back at the bat-like creatures; actually, the only resembled bats in the most mediocre sense; mostly, the three life forms looked more like human females.

"Y'know, you're right. Wow, that is so weird!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Angie said, and hit his booster. Morrison rocketed forward. He barked at Devinn, "Relatives of yours?!"

"Just keep driving, Angelo," Devinn said. "You don't have to outrun the bear, just the other campers. There are three vamps and four drivers."

"But Taro's in the lead."

"And he'll turn back to help his girlfriend." Angie didn't have to look to know the demon was sneering. "Knock Karma out of the running. Run her off the road. Destroy. Dominate. Kill."

"Just leave me alone," Angie softly whined.

Taro grimaced at the words over the comm. link. "Suck it up, kid. This is a race track, not a nursery."

"He wasn't talking to _you!!"_ Devinn snarled, taking Morrison offline.

"The heck was that about?" Karma asked. "That didn't sound like Halloran. Who was that?"

"Sounded like Devinn to me," said Jaakko. Karma asked him a question, but he ignored it. Jaakko was too busy calculating angles as one of the banshees closed in on him, black mane flying in the wind. With a final prayer, the chef flung his trusty meat cleaver like a Frisbee, taking the heads off two of the banshees. Their sister screamed and Jaakko caught the cleaver in mid air. Taro murmured his approval.

"Impressive."

"Knife work is my specialty," he answered as the final banshee came after him. She wailed her death song even as the cleaver sliced through her wing and she crashed to the pavement below.

"Dass vass tanken duurn!!"

Bjorn, Djali, Demitri and Anya headed up a road that connected to the one Taro, Karma, Angie and Jaakko were on. They were on the right track now, but they were still lagging behind. And the two fighting for the lead were Taro and Angie.

"Pull behind him and zoom up on his left flank, Angelo. He'll never even see it coming…"

Angie did what the voice in his head told him to. They were coming up on the portal now, and though he wasn't exactly benevolent, Devinn's advice had gotten him this far.

The move was so unexpected that Angie was soon neck and neck with Taro. This, of course, annoyed Taro to no end. Who did this kid think he was? With a slight smile, Taro tried to sideswipe the van but at the last possible second, Angie slammed on the brakes. Taro hit the guardrail, stunned, only to see Morrison barreling down on him. The van T-boned Night Prowler, sending it over the edge of the track.

Taro looked around as his car flipped end over end, refusing to panic. He had no choice. Taking a deep breath, Taro hit the EDR, sending both him and the vehicle back to the base

Karma called out for her love in fear.

"I'm fine," he grumbled. "Finish the race."

Devinn's childlike laughter bubbled and echoed in Angie's head. "What a shame," he said. "What a crying shame."

From there the race was over swiftly and painlessly. Angie made it through the portal first in Morrison, with Karma and Jaakko trailing behind him. As he came through to his home dimension he slammed on the brakes and swerved until he was parallel parked in one fluid motion.

Taro seethed with annoyance. He would not let the little drummer boy get away with snatching away his victory. He glared, leaning against his battered Night Prowler, thinking of all the repairs he would have to make. Taro watched in irritation as the allegedly sweet and innocent fool across the garage welcomed his friends who came though the portal.

"Let's do it again!!" Angie called out triumphantly. "Let's do it again!!"

Nona chuckled and moved towards the drummer who was now bouncing on his heels.

"Alright, that's enough, Angel Dave. Bed time for Bonzo."

"But Bonzo doesn't _want_ to go to bed! Bonzo would _much_ rather go to Bitburg, and then out for a cup of tea."

"Wow. You made _that_ reference."

"Yeah, well, not everyone will get it but the right people will. Right, Jimmers?"

"The men don't know, but the little girls understand," said St. Jimmy with a wink.

Fools. All such terrible fools. Fuming, he stomped away, and the kitten followed after.

Angie watched him go with a hurt expression. He murmured, "But I'm not a fool. I'm a madman; there's a difference..."

* * *

Tezla examined the fresh data, greatly pleased with his drivers' performances. Halloran made it out of the realm and back to base in twenty-one minutes flat, three minutes less than the fastest Drone time for the realm. It seemed there was something to be said for human ingenuity after all.

"Wow, twenty-one minutes, zero seconds," Fern sighed. "Absolutely amazing; keeping such a cool head at such high velocities! Where do you find drivers like these?"

Tezla briefly glanced in the intern's direction before getting back to work. "Here and there," he said nonchalantly. "The trick is to find ones with talent but lacking the know-how or proper management to make it in the big-time; street racers too engrossed in turf wars to try Grande Prix, disgraced cheaters banned from the professional circuit, young Turks itching to prove themselves. They're all just the right personality to be open to trying anything, no matter how crazy it sounds."

"Fascinating," said Fern, but Tezla was ignoring her again.

The poor sap never noticed her reach into her lab coat and pull out her sai.

* * *

A/N: *SIGH* You know what? Fuck you guys. I don't need you. I don't need anybody. I'm not even adding anymore author's notes after this. Just straight up chapters.


	8. Shinobi no Te

A/N: I had this chapter ready for a while but I haven't had much time on the internet lately. So, um, that's why I took so long. Sorry. And as for the anonymous person who reviewed, thank you. You really helped me to feel better. I only put in this Author's note to say that.

* * *

Dan was vaguely aware of a dainty hand slapping his cheek. He could hear far off, muffled sounds—like people on the deck were talking while he was underwater. And why was everything so dark and fuzzy? He felt so cold.

A jolt of pain went up his side and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. Okay, _now_ he remembered. A pair of strong, tattoo-covered arms lifted him up like a small child, and he knew he was being carried. Dan looked up at the face of his rescuer, obscured by harsh fluorescent light.

"…Andrew…?"

"Stay with me, Dan," said Wylde gently. "We're almost there.

Mel cleared a path to the sick bay with a guard. As soon as they burst through the doors the medical staff was upon them. Dan's shirt and jacket were stripped away to get a better look at the wound, and Mel and Wylde were kicked out.

So there they stood, leaning against the wall opposite the sick bay as Dan Dresden was being prepped for surgery. Wylde squeezed his girlfriend's hand. Mel tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "He called you something," she started, and asked, "Markie, why did he call you Andrew?"

Wylde was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he answered "His older brother." He sighed. "Drew Dresden was Dan's second oldest brother, and one of the bravest fire fighters New York City ever knew. A real stand-up guy."

Mel furrowed her brow with concern. "Was?"

"He…he saved some people on 9/11. He brought them all out of the World Trade Center to safety. They begged him not to go leave again, but he just smiled; he said he had lives to save. And he just went back into the South Tower like it was nothing." Wylde looked at the floor and squeezed Mel's hand again. Sometimes, he could still hear the screams and smell the ashes; that day in Times Square, it had seemed like the end of the world, like nothing would ever be okay. But Drew was the crazy kind of guy who flourished in that environment. Wylde blinked away the tears he told himself did not exist. He would not cry. Real men did _not_ cry.

"He never made it out again," Wylde finished. "He got caught on the stairwell when the South Tower collapsed."

Mel rested her head on her love's shoulder, cuddling against his muscular arm. Calling out to a dead relative was never a good sign; to be sure, Dan had a fight ahead of him. Wylde held her reassuringly and kissed the top of her head.

"Go back to the garage," he said after a while. "Let the guys know what's up; talk to Tezla."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you?"

"I'll be okay, Mel," he aid gently, kissing her once more. "Just go. I'll stay with Dan."

Reluctantly, Mel nodded, and she was off like a flash. Poor Markie must have been so worried for Dan. Mel remembered Markie saying they'd been pals since they were small children; indeed, Dan's older sister used to baby-sit the Wylde boys, bringing Dan along as a playmate. Mel knew how hard it was to see someone so close to you killed…

'Hurt!' she chided herself. Dan was not dead but badly hurt. He'd be okay; all he needed was some well deserved rest and he'd be back on his feet in no time. But for now, she had to find the others.

"Taro!!" she shrieked as she hit the garage. "Banjee, Alec, Vert!! Come on!"

"What's going on, Mel? Is Dan going to be all right?"

Mel's eyes darkened. "Things are looking grim, you guys," she said through the tears. "I don't know what's going on, but he looks really bad. If you wanna say goodbye, you might not get another chance."

They could merely stare in horror, and Taro was the only one with the presence of mind to ask for directions to the infirmary. Grimly, Mel instructed him to "follow the blood drops" and gestured to the right course.

While the guys were off to see their old friend, Mel righted her motorcycle and walked it over to where the other Maniacs were parked; in her haste to get Dan to safety the female feral mutant had left her beloved Dropkick toppled over. As she put down the kick stand, she sighed.

Mel shivered with the intense need to wash her hands. So much crimson, so thick, starting to get sticky and crusty in places. And she still couldn't retract her claws! Mel didn't have to look in the mirror to know her eyes were glowing orange again. The smell of blood always made her…freak out. That awful, terrible, coppery stench, clinging to the razor-sharp implements at the tips of her fingers sent disgusted chills up her spine. She tried to block it out by focusing more on her ears than on her nose.

Mel's ears twitched; there was some sort of scuffle going on in the control room. Was…was that sound…?

"Choking," she whispered, though she was alone; Mel ran up the stairs to the lab, stepping over guards she hoped were merely unconscious. Mel opened her senses and crept towards the door to the control room. One way glass made up the wall that faced the garage, but she could still hear her opponents clearly.

There was a deep thud as someone hit the ground. "Don't make me tell you twice, old man," said a woman. "Give us the access codes. You will not get a second chance."

A man coughed—Dr. Tezla, from the sound of it. "You'll never get away with this. Fury will—"

The woman laughed. "Fury and his organization are but a nuisance to the immortal Hand. We have existed since the dawn of the shogunate; many have tried to crush us and all have perished. Soon the same will be said for SHIELD, gaijin."

Tezla yelped as someone else, someone larger than the woman, hit him.

"Tell us what we want to know," the man said. There was the sound of a blade being unsheathed, and Mel's eyes widened. If she did not act, Tezla was done for!

Another bad guy chuckled. "Forget it, my brother and sister," he said. "I hacked the first fire wall and I can get the rest. He is no longer needed."

Tezla whimpered as his interns advanced with weapons in hand. He had nowhere to run and no means to defend himself.

"I promise we shall make this quick, doctor," said Fern. "A dignified man of science such as yourself should not be made to suffer."

The lights flickered; an electronic sizzle alerted the assassins to the lock having been broken, and the doors slid open. The intern who had been at the computer flung a handful of shuriken but they hit nothing. He got up and went to the doorway.

"What the hell? There's no one there."

A deep growl emanated from the hallway, though exactly where, they could not tell. An orange blur of teeth and claws swung from the top of the doorway, kicking the hacker in the chest. He flew across the room into the control console, cracking a monitor before he fell to the floor. He flung out another four shuriken before losing consciousness. Mel back-flipped and dodged the first two, but one nicked her side and a second went completely through her ribcage and lodged itself in her lung. Mel coughed up some blood, staggering as she landed.

Fern gripped her sai. "Take her down, Jonouchi."

The tall Japanese man with the sword ran at Mel; his technique was excellent, but his speed left something to be desired. She managed to somersault to avoid what would have been a fatal blow and clawed at the back of his knees. Jonouchi dropped to the floor and screamed, unable to stand. Mel punched him in the back of the head, knocking the assassin out, and picked up his sword.

Fern laughed. "Ridiculous gaijin. Do you really think your mutant tricks will save you? I have been taught to kill since before you could walk. I have been fighting since before you were born. I am a Ninja of the Hand Clan, and you are but an insolent whelp who is about to get spayed the hard way!"

Fern gave a battle cry, lunging forward with her sai. Mel tried to swing with Jonouchi's sword, but the more experienced woman caught the blade in her two sai and tossed it aside. She lunged again, and Mel caught her by her left arm, but the sai in her right hand plunged deep into Mel's chest. She sputtered and gasped, her grip weakening on her opponent.

Fern sneered and pushed Mel against the wall, twisting the weapon. "Fool. Did you really think you could defeat a Hand shinobi?"

"I…I d-didn't think Ninjas…were this talkative…"

Cowering under a desk across the room, Dr. Tezla knew this was his only chance. He hit a secret alarm and sirens began to blare.

In the confusion of the flashing red lights, Fern looked away for just a second, but it was more than enough. Mel raked her claws down the woman's back and she screamed, falling to her knees. Sai still buried deep in her sternum, she grabbed Fern by her throat and lifted her into the air.

"Ninja or not," she hissed, "I still beat you."

"How are you still alive?" Fern cried. "You freak! You are not human! What are you?!"

Mel used her free hand to pull the sai from her chest; for a moment she lost her balnce, but her grip on the shinobi never faltered. "I'm a mutant. My power is that I heal really fast, so you can't hurt me—at least, not for long. And I probably should have warned you I was trained by a guy named Wolverine."

The Ninja laughed unrepentantly. "Ask me if I care, gaijin dog. Tell Alec…Stryker says hi…"

What was that supposed to mean? Mel stared quizzically at her now unconscious foe as agents finally stormed the lab.

"Where the hell have you all been?!" Mel cried indignantly. "You guys are so freaking lucky I'm a mutant. What kind of lapse in intelligence caused you to let a gaggle of Ninjas into the base?!" Mel started coughing and hugged her chest. She whimpered from the pain; these injuries would take all day to heal.

Tezla put a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, Melissa. Thank you for saving me, but you really should go to the infirmary—"

"The infirmary!! Doc, Dan's in sickbay after those wolf things got him in the realm! I can't believe I forgot about him."

"It's okay, just go."

* * *

A/N: Yeah. Ninjas. Deal with it.


	9. Day of Recovery

Banjee paced the floor of the waiting room impatiently, even as the alarm stopped. He remembered this particular alarm; the same alarm had gone off at Area 51 when Vert came through the portal and it meant there was an intruder in the base. On that occasion, however, they hadn't been shoved into a room and instructed to input the emergency lockdown codes into the computerized locks by a man in a Kevlar uniform. There was a hostile on deck, and Banjee could do nothing shut up in here.

The keypad next to the door beeped, proclaiming access denied; it fizzled and shorted out and eight curved blades situated themselves between the doors. No, not blades—claws! The doors were forced open and there stood Melissa McClurg, triumphant but battle scarred. Though her wounds seemed healed as if over a week had passed, bloodstained holes were rampant on her red tank top.

After a few moments, the orange glow in her eyes faded and she fell forward.

"Mel!" Wylde leapt forward to catch her in his arms. "Melissa, baby, what happened?"

She groaned. "Oh, Markie. Never…Never got to tell you…how much I…hate…Ninjas…"

"Ninjas?!" Alec sputtered. "Man, uh-uh. No way could they get into a SHIELD facility."

"Someone should tell that to the Hand clan," she said weakly. "They were here to kill Tezla and steal his research. One of them said to tell you 'Stryker says hi,' whatever that means."

Alec and Banjee shared a look, but everyone else in the room was either too weak or too concerned to notice.

Mel stood up with her boyfriend's help and smiled. "Thanks, Markie," she croaked, and started coughing. Disgusting, wet hacking noises that came from deep in Mel's chest filled the air, like a cat with a hairball.

Alec grimaced. "Ewww."

After what seemed like an eternity to her, Mel coughed something bloody into her hand. Holding it up to the light revealed the item to be a shuriken.

"Holy crap, you really were fightin' Ninjas there, weren't ya? Damn, girl!"

Mel had almost forgotten about the throwing star in her lung, but she was grateful to be rid of it nonetheless. Unfortunately, its sharp edges had also ripped up her throat and she was now rendered speechless.

Another door opened; there was a woman in scrubs looking perplexed. "What's all that noise? Oh, dear!" One look at Mel and she was ready for action. "OR 3 is open. We need to get you stitched up!"

Mel pushed her away, shaking her head. Wylde spoke for her. "Mel's fine. Her mutation is she heals really fast."

"I am perfectly aware of Miss McClurg's abilities, Mr. Wylde," she said. "Oh, now, don't give me that look. All base staff were given files on people who have worked with Tezla previously—even if Miss McClurg wasn't driving."

Mel clung to Wylde, glowering and showing her fangs.

"Now, I know your healing factor will take care of the worst of it, but it still hurts, right? It'll still take the night for you to heal and you require extra food when you're badly injured because you metabolism kicks into high gear."

Mel glared, stomach growling; reluctantly, she nodded.

"Well, see, now, is that so bad?" The woman chuckled. "I'm Dr Fortner. Come along, dear; let's get you cleaned up."

Mel nodded and followed on shaky feet. The doctor chuckled again and dragged a slightly annoyed Mel to an examination room. Vert and Alec started teasing Wylde about him and the redhead being so close, but as a pair of agents on cleanup duty passed through they lost their sense of humor. These particular agents of SHIELD each pushed a gurney, fully loaded with sheets covering their passengers.

"I'll be back in few," said Wylde. "Pray for Dan."

* * *

Assistant Director Maria Hill stepped around the chalk outlines and debris that littered the lab; what a disaster. Fury had left her in charge while he dealt with the latest Hulk rampage somewhere in the Midwest, and she had failed. She lost four men to three interns—interns whose backgrounds she had been charged with checking. Her lack of paranoia had allowed her to be fooled, allowing Ninjas into the base.

"_Now_ can I work alone?"

She snapped to attention. "What was that?"

"With all due respect, Assistant Director Hill," Tezla began carefully, "I never wanted to deal with interns in the first place. This attempt on my life shows how few we can trust and I believe my work was going fairly well before I started up with SHIELD again."

Hill advanced on him. "You wouldn't be thinking of deserting, would you? There's a war on, Doctor. That would be treason, and we can't have that."

"O-of course not," Tezla answered. He cleared his throat. "All I meant was having so many people in the lab, so many guards around… I'm under a lot of pressure, as are the drivers, and I just think things would go a little more smoothly in a more relaxed atmosphere."

Hill quietly regarded Dr. Tezla; this thin, bookish fellow with the swollen cheek and the nasty cut on his arm. Finally, she said, "I'll talk to Col. Fury about it. In the meantime, background checks on the new drivers have been completed. You might want to take a look."

AD Hill brought up the profiles on the one monitor still intact—Russian American orphans, a pair of giantesses with an ex-KGB father, a trio of Latverian freedom fighters opposed to the tyranny of Von Doom. Most interesting of all were the Foundlings, a rock n' roll three piece with a background in street racing; a small Japanese fellow disowned by his parents, and of course, the daughter of a Vegas showgirl Tezla dated in the 1980s. But the drummer…good God, the drummer…

"Are you sure this is correct?"

Hill nodded. "There's no denying any of it. A public figure like that, the truth comes out. The kid's one bad day away from his own _Behind the Music_ special."

Tezla shook his head. "He ran Taro off the road. If the EDR hadn't been properly installed…" He groaned, running a hand through his silver hair. "Gott in Himmell…"

* * *

Mel stepped carefully into the hall, now in her favorite black jeans and a swishy red blouse. Her wounds had healed outwardly, though she was still in pain, and her curly hair hung down her back.

"See?" Fortner said cheerily. "Don't you feel so much better now that you're all cleaned up?"

Mel rolled her eyes and smiled. Upon returning to the waiting room, however, she was slightly puzzled by Taro's appearance. Arching a single eyebrow, she pointed a clawed finger in the older racer's direction, and soundlessly cocked her head to the side.

Taro grumbled in annoyance, but said nothing—at least not in English. Fortner tittered with amusement and pinched Taro's cheek.

"Oh, you are just too cute!" With a motherly smile, she got back to business. "You'll all be pleased to know Mr. Dresden's operation was a success; there was significant muscle damage, but his organs are all intact. His tissue seems to be regenerating very nicely and he should be just fine."

Banjee, Alec and Vert fell into a mess of high-fives; Mel and Wylde embraced in joy. Taro breathed a sigh of relief. Now that he knew Dan was okay, he could get back to the garage; Karma would be wondering about him, and Angie Halloran needed to pay for running him off the road. But just as he was getting up to leave, Banjee pulled him back.

"Hey, where you think you're going?"

"Back to the garage."

"Nuh-uh," said Banjee. "You're coming to check on Dan."

"But—"

"It's the polite thing to do!" Banjee demanded, and that was the end of the discussion. Vert snickered to Alec as they followed.

Dan lay peacefully in the infirmary bed, his breathing in time with the monitors. Fluids and fresh blood were infused intravenously through a tube in his arm, along with antibiotics and painkillers. As his friends surrounded him, Dan slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey there, stranger," Wylde said gently. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Dan smiled weakly, speaking in a hoarse voice. "Hi, guys." Vert, blonde as the poor lad was, asked the most obvious question of how Dan was feeling. The older racer actually squinted off to the side and thought about this before answering honestly. "Like my body's suspended in green jelly."

"That would be the drugs," Alec replied. "They pumped you full of sedatives while they put you together again. You really had us worried, Dan."

"My stomach hurts."

Banjee smiled sympathetically."Of course, Dan. You almost had it ripped out."

Mel patted the patient's hand in a sisterly way and smiled. Her throat wasn't quite healed enough to speak, but Dan go the message.

"Thank you for saving me, Mel," he said, clutching her hand. "If you and Markie hadn't come along, I wouldn't be here."

"You woulda been here sooner if you'd just let me hit the EDR! You are so stubborn, Dan! Honestly, you coulda been killed!"

"I already thought I was dying, Markie; I didn't want to die without finishing the race…"

Mel squeezed his hand. Dan looked up, perplexed.

"Uh, Taro…you got something right about—"

"Yes! I know I have a cat on my head!!" Taro snapped. "I've tried to pull it off but this stupid thing won't budge! Will everyone please shut up about it?!?!"

Dan arched an eyebrow. "Have you tried tuna fish and warm milk? Poor thing looks half starved."

Taro rolled his eyes. Banjee, Vert, Alec and Dan all had a laugh at his expense, but their mirth soon turned to adoration as the kitten in question began to mewl.

Though she still could not speak, Mel's hazel eyes were big as saucers. Due to her mutation, Mel's maternal instincts were much stronger than those of any normal human. Basically, anything small and or fuzzy was in serious danger of being snuggled and nurtured to the point of losing its mind. You didn't need super senses to hear her biological clock ticking. Taro recognized Mel's expression as the same Karma wore whenever she saw a sleepy baby or a group of small children playing in the park.

"So cute…" Dan's eyelids drooped closed, and his well wisher silently agreed to let him sleep. The former Street Breed had a long recovery ahead of him.


	10. Mental Anguish

As they passed through the halls, the old friends parted ways. Taro had to feed his kitten, as did Wylde; Mel and Manny were both weak with hunger and had to be carried to the mess hall. Alec, Banjee and Vert, however, went back to the garage to assess the damage to their vehicles. And boy, were they surprised to find Angie ever so politely calling the guards fascists.

Vert and Alec moved to contain the situation; they apologized to the SHIELD agents, who didn't seem to be bothered much anyway, and explained to Angie why the base was on lockdown. Grudgingly, the drummer offered his apologies, but only after the two surfers threatened to sit on him.

Banjee laughed. "Took you long enough."

"Well, I don't want to be sat on," said Angie. "Alec has a big fanny and I would be quite squish-ed."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Would you listen to this guy? Halloran, you are freakin' weird."

"Of course I am or I wouldn't be Angie."

"Sure, little drummer boy," Alec said with a roll of his eyes. "Whatever you say."

Skeet pulled a double take at what he had just heard. Those big blue eyes, that dog collar, that unmistakable jacket with bunny ears on the hood… The road Beast yanked the latest copy of Rolling Stone from his glove box; he looked from the cover, to the young man, to the magazine cover again. Finally, the rather broad shouldered racer let out an uncharacteristically girlish squeal of delight. Indeed, it was…

"Angie Halloran!!" Skeet pranced around in excitement, squealing once more. Angie smirked when Skeet ran to him, still squealing. "Oh mah goodness, it's Angie Halloran!!"

"Well, I know who I am, oh stranger who won't stop hugging me, but who are you?"

"All my friends call me Skeet," he said. "I saw the Foundlings open for KISS at the Hard Rock in Tampa. Y'all changed mah life. In fact, can I have your autograph?"

"Wow, I'm flattered. Usually, people ask for Nona or Jimmy. I'm just the drummer."

"Well, Ringo was always my favorite Beatle, if'n ya know what I mean." Skeet humbly offered Angie a beat-up looking pair of drumsticks.

"Aww," said Angie, cocking his head to the side. He made puppy dog eyes and pulled out a marker. "Of course!"

Banjee and Esmeralda snickered when Skeet pranced back in their direction. Who would expect a big tough guy like this gator hunting good ol' boy to act like a high school girl?

"Cute," Es laughed. She took the drumsticks and read aloud.

"'To my number one fan—what kind of a nickname is Skeet anyway? You'll have to tell me sometime. Bet it's a great story! Hugs & kisses! Angie.'" Es scoffed in an attempt to keep from laughing. "What kind of man signs anything 'hugs and kisses?' Weirdo."

Skeet snatched the drumsticks back. It was official: he had a new second most cherished possession right below his car. Banjee rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Just try not to let your little boy-crush get in the way of your driving."

"Boy-crush?! I don't—"

Es laughed even as Banjee continued. "I don't know how, but that weird kid won the first leg, even after having to deal with Taro."

Skeet was still red in the face. "I don't like him like that. I'm just in the fan club. He's a great drummer and I respect him."

"And you have a crush on him."

"Esmeralda, tell Banjee to stop picking on me!"

"Oh, you crazy kids."

The guards were making some kind of commotion again as Tezla came out of his lab and down to the garage. The good doctor had a bandage on his cheek and another around his throat. Treading patiently behind him was a tallish woman with short black hair, and much to the surprise of those drivers milling about in the garage both she and the doctor marched right up to Angie.

"Aren't I popular today," he murmured. "Why, hello there, Dr. Tezla. How wonderful to be formally introduced at long last. That piece in Scientific American about artificial intelligence and alien technology was inspired."

Tezla chuckled bashfully, taken aback that one of the drivers was actually familiar with his work. "You actually read that? Oh dear, I'm so flattered."

"That's not what we're here to discuss," Agent Hill reminded him. Tezla cleared his throat.

"I noticed that you had some trouble with Taro towards the end of the Realm, Angie."

"Trouble…? Oh, the collision! That's no big deal. I'm okay. No harm done."

"But you ran Taro off the road," Tezla asserted. "He could have been killed."

"But I—"

"Competition is one thing, but we can't have you eliminating other drivers."

"Hey, lay off him, Pops," said Nona with an emphatic shove. "Maybe someone shoulda told that to Taro, 'cause from where I was driving it looked like he started the whole thing."

"Yes, well, that may be the case, but I still can't stand idly by with this psycho loose in the realms."

A spark of righteous anger the drummer did not know he possessed cracked and sizzled on the underside of his brain and he could not keep himself from hissing his next words.

"_Kitano_ was the one who tried to sideswipe _us. HE_ tried to run _US_ off the road. We had no choice but to defend ourselves." He glowered and clenched his teeth, but quickly lost his resolve; Angie shook his head, seemingly confused. "I mean, _I_ had to defend myself."

Tezla quietly watched him for a long pause. "Uh, right…That was something else I was going to mention. As part of standard security procedures, when all the extra drivers crashed our little party, extensive background checks were commissioned on each and every one. And I must say there really were quite a few items in your file that we find rather… troubling."

Angie blinked unknowingly, the absolute picture of innocence. "Why, doctor, whatever do you mean?"

"I'm going to be frank—"

"Can I still be Angie?"

"What are you even doing behind the wheel?"

"My van is my baby, sir. I wouldn't trust anyone else to drive her."

"That is not what I meant"

"Well, what _do_ you mean, doctor? I can't very well give you a straight answer to a backwards question. It's any wonder Keesha Maddox found your presence intolerable."

That remark was completely uncalled for, and Tezla found himself deeply offended. He had no sympathy left for the man-child who now stood before him and would pull no punches.

"Angelo David Halloran, your reckless disregard for the safety of your fellow driver is alarming to say the least. God forbid something had gone wrong with the EDR on Night Prowler and Taro had been killed; that blood would've been on my hands for letting you into the realm in the first place. You are far too dangerous to be allowed to race with the other drivers and you will never return to the realms. EVER."

"E-excuse me?" Angie scoffed. "You can't do that! That's not fair!"

"I can, and I have. According to the state of Nevada you are not legally supposed to drive until you are twenty-four. You are currently twenty-one. The courts were very clear."

Angie threw up his hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes for good measure. "Five little arson charges and you're marked for life! This is ludicrous. I was acquitted—"

"Yeah, by reason of insanity," muttered the woman.

"—and still you people put me through the wringer." Angie shook his head and scowled. "Y'know what? Fine! I am SO out of here."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," the woman said, blocking his path. "Agent Maria Hill; I'm in charge of the base while Nick Fury watches the world. He left me in charge while he's kicking around and his orders were 'no one gets in, no one gets out.' So, Mr. Halloran, I'm afraid you aren't going anywhere."

Angie froze; soft laughter only he could hear sent a chill up his spine. "What…? So…So I'm not allowed to drive and I-I can't go back to the city?"

Agent Hill shook her head resolutely and Angie heard the laughter again.

"Poor little Angelo, trapped like a rat," said an artificially sweet voice like antifreeze. "I told you they'd never let you leave, insolent cur, but you're just too stupid to listen to Mommy dearest…"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!!" Angie clutched at his hair and frantically shook his head. "No!!I have to get out of here. I-I-I can't be stuck here, feeling claustrophobic, there must have been a door here in the wall when I came in…"

By now the trio had drawn quite a crowd. The Road Beasts rubbernecked from a safe distance while Vert ran to find his twin. Tezla himself took a cautionary step back while the drummer composed himself.

"No," he said through clenched teeth in as calm a voice as he could manage. "You can't keep me here against my will."

"Well, there's always 'Option B,'" replied Agent Hill.

"'Option B?'"

Maria Hill smiled. "Oh, boys?" she called sweetly. Two guards held an open straight jacket between them, and a third had a syringe—a syringe, no doubt, loaded with sedatives. Angie bolted for the opposite end of the garage, streaking past the Wheeler twins as they emerged from the men's room and shimmied his way up a chain used for hoisting engines. And since the garage had such high ceilings, by the time Agent Hill commanded the trigger happy guards to hold their fire, he was already three stories up and still moving. Soon, he was perched in the rafters, resting peacefully.

Hill was livid, gnashing her teeth. "You get down from there this instant, young man!"

"_Te audire no possum! Musa sapientum fixa est in aure!"_

"What did he just say?" Tezla cringed before he answered St. Jimmy.

"My Latin's a little rusty so I could be paraphrasing, but I think he just said 'I can't hear you, I have a banana in my ear.'"

St. Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "No, that sounds about right. Hoo boy."

The agent with the sedatives giggled in spite of the situation until Agent Hill sent him a death glare.

"Man, it's about time!" Alec hissed when the Wheelers finally showed. "Things have gone all to heck in a hamster ball, Mikki. What took you so long?"

"Cut me some slack, jack. Don't have a heart attack. I was in the john. What's going on?"

"Angie's freaking out again…and you sound like a Hallmark card."

Mikki glared. "I rhyme when I'm nervous."

"C'mon, you guys, this is serious." Vert nodded to his twin.

"Angie, Angie, when will those clouds all disappear?" he called out with a playful smile. "I'm gone for five minutes and these are the hijinks you get up to? 'Up' being the operative word…"

"I won't go back!" Angie cried from his precarious perch. "I'll never go back! You can't make me! I WOULD RATHER DIE!!"

"What, to the realms?" Okay, now he was confused. "Angie, you won the Realm of Eternal Night. You seemed like you were having so much fun."

Mikki was given pause as a single water droplet hi his face. He looked up and saw that Angie was crying.

"They want to take me back to Barstow Sands, Mikki." In his voice they heard his sorrow. "The loony bin, the funny farm, the crazy person's hoosegow. Do you remember that awful place…? The laughter, the pain, the fear; all of the gaping, drugged out faces that stare and twiddle their thumbs and toes. The screaming still hasn't gone away from last time, Mik. It never stops. The screaming never stops!!!"

Angie swayed and grabbed the chain to regain his balance. There was a chorus of gasps and murmurs from both the drivers who occupied the garage and the guards who surrounded them.

"O-okay, Angie, just…take it easy." Mikki hoped no one noticed he was trembling. "I know you're scared, but no one's going to make you do anything you don't want to."

"You…you won't let them take me?"

"Of course not, Angie. Now, why don't you come down here and we can talk this out?"

Angie shook his head. "No way! Not until Mata Hari and her thugs put away the straight jacket."

"You heard him, ma'am. Ball's in your court."

Hill snapped. "I am not taking orders from this psycho!"

"Just think of it as a condition of his surrender."

"The split second he's on the ground, we take him. He's being committed." Hill stepped on the Goth's line before he could interrupt. "The kid's deranged. He's a liability and I want him out of here."

Mikki stood tall, resolved. "Then you'll have to take me with him. I know you look at Angie and see a dangerous psychopath, but I've lived with him for seven years. Angie's not just a good kid, he's an angel." Mikki paused. "He's my angel."

Vert stepped up confidently and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "If Mikki goes, I go," he said. Alec copied his best friend's actions on Mikki's other side.

"Me too."

"Well, it's just too bad you can't leave the base because of Fury's orders."

"Doesn't mean we have to cooperate," Mikki asserted. "And I guarantee you we three aren't the only ones who will be up in arms about the little drummer boy."

Alec's eyes darkened. "Stryker started that whole mess with the Silencerz over a driver being called off active duty. You eliminate Angie Halloran and the others might get nervous."

"It isn't elimination," Hill said icily. Alec shrugged as if to say that was what it looked like. Dr. Tezla contemplated carefully what next to say.

"Alec has a point," he started. "The drivers will hope for the best, but these people only know about top secret intelligence organizations what they've seen in the movies. No matter what explanation you offer them, they will assume that Halloran has been, for lack of a better term…eliminated."

Hill tried desperately to think of a way to stall for time. What would Nick fury do in this situation? Nick Fury would not bow down to his underlings, no matter what points they made. Nick Fury would not compromise. Nick Fury…would have thought all of this out and come to the same conclusion twenty minutes ago, avoiding this whole conversation. Crap!

"Stan down, gentlemen," said Agent Hill, and the three agents lowered their weapons. She called up to Angie. "But you can't leave and you can't drive! This ain't baseball, kid. You don't get three strikes with me!"

"So you won't send me to…to the psych ward?"

"Not today," answered Agent Hill, and Angie made his way down. As soon as his feet were touching the garage floor Hill grabbed him by his dog collar. "But the split second you mess with Tezla's research or hurt another driver, you are _mine._ Don't make me regret the second chance I just gave you, got it?!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't call me ma'am! It makes me feel old."

"Yes, Agent Hill." Even as Hill commanded the guards back to their posts Angie just stood there, deep in shock. He felt rather silly about the way he had acted and wanted to apologize for upsetting everyone, but he was still so very frightened. More that anything, even more than his mother, Angie feared being sent to the nuthouse. Because he had been there before. Because he knew what it was like.

And because it was only a matter of time before he ended up there again.

"It's all right, Angie; just go to your happy place." Mikki smiled in a comforting way and pulled up the hood of Angie's sweatshirt which, for some odd reason, had bunny ears. "Ringo Starr running through an endless field of flowers."

"…With…bunnies?"

"Yes, Angie. With lots of little bunnies."

"I like bunnies; they are fluffy and nice…Except the devil bunny of Kaerbannog with the big pointy teeth. He's a meanie."

And to think this bundle of nerves had defeated Taro Kitano.


	11. Transitions

Taro nudged the kitten behind her ears and she purred and nuzzled his hand. After cleaning off the motor oil, the former Osaka racing star had discovered the kitten was a white female with gray patches.

After giving the kitten tuna fish and warm milk as everyone kept suggesting, Taro knew he would never get rid of her. He wondered vaguely if he should think of a better name than Angie had given her. And furthermore, could he even keep her? As cute as she was, getting attached probably wasn't a great idea.

"Mew!" The kitten batted at a shoelace Taro dangled in front of her with her little baby paws. She jumped and twisted in the air just as Taro pulled the shoelace out of reach.

In a strange way the name did suit her. Yeah. He'd call her Manny.

"Well, now I know you have a heart," said a warm voice, "because I can see it melting."

He glanced at Karma, then back to his kitty, and smiled. "Do you think the base allows pets?"

"Fury said no one gets out. I'd have to assume that goes for animals too."

Karma rubbed under the kitten's chin, and she purred. "Besides, who could say no to that fuzzy face? Oh, what big green eyes! Have you decided on a name yet?"

"I'm gonna stick with Manny."

"Mew!"

"Aww, she likes it!" Karma chuckled and picked up the kitten, holding her to her chest. "Little sweetie! Who's my fuzzy baby? You are! Yes you are!"

Taro pretended to sulk. "I thought I was your fuzzy baby." For a moment, he and Karma just stared at each other, but finally they smiled.

"You missed a show in the garage," Karma said when she had stopped laughing. She told him about Angie Halloran's freak out—the things he did, the threats he made—and how Mikki had saved the day. It was one crazy story, but Karma demanded it was absolutely true. Angie had used his own life as a bargaining chip to stay at the base.

"Wow."

"I can't believe he almost threw it all away like that. You could see it on his face, Taro. He was completely prepared to end his life just to stay here."

"Why were they trying to take him away?"

"I only caught the tail end of what Tezla was saying so there was probably more to the story—" for a moment, Karma hesitated—"but it sounded like Angie got into some legal trouble when he was younger and isn't supposed to be driving. They seemed pretty angry about what he did to you in the realm, too."

Taro raised his eyebrows. "So we're stuck with him? Great." And now we wouldn't get the chance to beat him in a fair race. He glowered.

"Mew! Meewww!"

Manny twisted out of Karma's grasp and leapt onto Taro's head. Taro was startled, but didn't bother to try to pull her off. He sighed. Karma rolled her eyes.

"I'll get some more tuna fish."

* * *

When Fury returned from the Hulk debacle that next morning, he was livid. How had those would be assassins gotten into _his_ backyard? But one positive side effect was that Dr. Tezla was no longer required to work with snotty human interns. An X-AD8 unit was located and, much to the doctor's delight, Gig's backup memory files were uploaded into it.

Time passed like so many jumping spiders, and soon it had been almost two weeks they were in the base. Mel regained her voice after only a day, her shredded vocal chords repairing themselves with superhuman swiftness. Dan recovered from his wounds rather quickly as well; by the ninth day, he was walking around as if nothing had happened and the medical staff promised he could drive in three days time.

Vert's apologies to Nona were still in vain, it seemed, but her temper was cooling off a bit. Tork and Krakatoa were still getting into their little playground arguments but they managed to keep a lid on the physical violence, so far.

One realm was opened every other day, to keep the drivers rested and their vehicles tuned. Dropkick was totaled in the Lava Realm, and Mel built a new machine after that; a supercharged Ford she christened R!OT GRRRL. And as soon as he had full range of motion back, Dan started working on a new car, too, which he called Sidedraft II after the car that got him through the World Race.

But as all this happened around him, Angie was stuck in the garage. He tuned and detailed Morrison, putting a new wizard mural on the side. He helped out the other Lost & Found when they asked, he cat-sat while Taro was in the realms, he cleaned his own room and the common rooms until he saw his reflection I every surface. All of this, and he still had time to compose an entire rock opera.

Needless to say, the little drummer boy was restless. Angie understood why he wasn't supposed to drive—the brass was just protecting the other drivers—and he knew why he couldn't leave—what if he revealed their operations and someone actually believed him? But he didn't like it. Even with his medication he was going stir crazy. He had serious cabin fever but at least he couldn't hear Cecilia or Devinn anymore.

It was strange; Angie had taken his medication shortly before entering the Realm of Eternal Night. He had not skipped a single dose, or even been late taking it, but still the voices called to him. He supposed it must have been the adrenaline rush that burned through all the sedatives and made him behave in such a way. It was for the best that he could not get behind the wheel.

But even if he knew it was for the best, Angie still did not enjoy being all cooped up.

Abigail Brand had been there the day before to see if Tezla had learned anything more about the Accelerons and now Fury was there for a few hours checking on the drivers. As the debriefing on the previous realm concluded the drivers filed out of the meeting room, but Angie lagged behind.

"This sucks," said Angie, deciding to be honest. "I can't drive, I can't go back to the city, and I haven't seen the sky in twelve damn nights. I'm cracking up, man! I need fresh air. At least the others get to use the on-base chapel."

Fury blinked—winked, really, since he only had one eye. "Pardon me fer soundin' ignorant, kid, but what does one have to do with the other?"

"I'm a Wiccan," Angie said sheepishly. "Tonight I was going to sing out to Konshu."

And much to Angie's surprise, the world's most adept spy nodded in understanding. "Ancient Egyptian moon god, right? Good for you."

"Huh? Are you a follower?"

"No, but I know a guy what wears a cape and calls himself the Moon Knight." Fury put a gruff hand on the drummer's shoulder. "Listen, the base ain't just this building here. We got miles o' desert around us; long as you don't go past the electric fence, I don't see no reason why you can't at least go outside."

Angie's eyes widened and he hugged Col. Fury, who had to fight back his instincts to shoot the boy. Fury forced a smile and patted him on the back before the little drummer boy skipped away. Shaking his head, Col. Fury voiced his thoughts aloud.

"Nutty as a fuckin' squirrel."

* * *

Angie caught up to his best friend, the Gothic Wheeler.

"Mikki Mikki Mikki!!!" he cried, practically tackling him to the floor in glee. "Col. Fury says we can go outside and play tonight!"

"So?"

"So the moon's risin' in 45 minutes, Mikki-mouse. Shake a tail feather. Let's roll!"

Realization dawned on the blonde's face. "It's the full moon?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

Vert narrowed his eyes and wagged his finger in mock disapproval. "Mikki, Dad said, 'no ritual animal sacrifices.'"

Mikki rolled his eyes and dramatically raised a scarred wrist to his forehead. "Aye, me, for I am so misunderstood." Mikki took a moment to stick out his tongue before turning to Angie. "C'mon, little drummer boy. I'll help you lug the altar."

"Konshu will be most pleased with us this night."

Alec muttered to Dan and Banjee. "Told ya they were weird."

"Yeah, and you weren't kidding." Banjee shook his head. Pagan worship was not only something he did not understand, but something he deeply disagreed with. "Que loco. They're messing with forces they don't understand. Who knows what could happen."

Dan raised his eyebrows. "Never realized you were so superstitious, Banjee."

"A basket case and some Goth freak sacrificing animals to who knows what demon in Hell just doesn't sit well with me."

"If it bothers you so much, I'll go keep an eye on the," Dan volunteered. "Who knows? I might learn something."

Dan waved goodbye in spite of Banjee's protests and warnings and leisurely followed after Angie and Mikki.


	12. Full Moon Fever

When Dan offered his assistance, Angie politely reminded him that he was still in recovery and should not do any heavy lifting. At this, Dan had no choice but to confess his curiosity. Once the truth was out, Mikki welcomed the older driver to participate, so long as he was careful about any prayers he offered. Dan was even given a brief history lesson on their chosen deity.

Khonshu was a god of ancient Egypt, worshipped as a patron of the Moon, of travel, the passage of time, and healing. Oddly enough, even with all of this, he was also a god of justice and retribution because he was such a strong defender of the truth. Khonshu was seen as a protector of children and, when not portrayed as a man with a hawk's head, was shown as a green-skinned boy of twelve, wrapped in the gauze of a mummy.

Soon a desert spot was chosen; the altar consisted of a simple card table with a celestial patterned cloth and a few sordid items, including a dagger, a pentacle, a chalice, a wand, and a pair of white candles. With some chanting and gesturing with the dagger, Mikki blessed the water and cast a protective circle, declaring himself, Dan and Angie safe and welcome. In time, the moon rose.

"O mighty Khonshu, king of the moon; healer, truth-seeker and patron of justice," Mikki solemnly intoned. "We offer you thanks for your protection, knowing that your watchful eye observes us."

Dan's stomach began to twist with unease and he broke into a cold sweat. This was ridiculous! Was he really frightened of this mumbo jumbo? Of course he wasn't…was he? And why was it so warm all of a sudden?

"We cannot begin to express our gratitude for the blessings you have bestowed upon us, O traveler," Angie said serenely. "We are eternally humble before your greatness and wish to know how to honor you, for yours is an endless bounty."

"And with us," Mikki added, "we bring a new friend; a truth-seeker and fellow traveler in the road that brought us here."

Dan felt another pang of squeamishness. "I-I don't know about this, you guys. I'm not feeling so hot. Maybe I should go back inside."

"Don't be scared, Dan. Khonshu's wise and benevolent." Angie smiled reassuringly, adding "Only the wicked have anything to fear from him."

Mikki raised a mocking eyebrow. "Dan…have you been naughty?"

"I'm a good guy!" he exclaimed feverishly. "And I'm not scared. I just—"

Suddenly, Dan's pulse skyrocketed and the head rush sent him to his knees. He felt like his insides were on fire. Clutching at the desert sand for purchase while the landscape reeled around him, his thoughts raced; what the heck was happening? He had been fine a moment ago, so why did everything hurt? Why did his bones feel like liquid hot magma?

"Dan? Dan, what's wrong?"

"Did he break his stitches?"

"I don't know!!"

"We've got to get him back inside!"

The blood pounded so loudly in his ears that Dan only picked up snippets of what they were saying. But still, they seemed so very loud, their cacophonous cries drowning out his very thoughts. He wished they would just shut up. If he could just breathe and think—

"Dresden, c'mon—"

Dan backhanded the dark side of the Wheeler coin, and he flew into the altar, knocking it aside and hitting his head on a rock. The blonde turned pale as he fell unconscious on the desert floor.

"Mikki!!"

"Shut up!" Dan snarled. "Just stop making so much damn noise, would you?!"

Angie backed off a step, silent, with a dear in the headlights expression like he hadn't worn in years. He shed no tears and made no sound, staying out of striking distance, all the while wondering what could have caused such a change in Dan's personality.

"I'm gonna get you ya dirty rascal," Dan threatened, and his eyes seemed to glow with that purpose. He moved towards Angie on all fours, gritting his teeth against his own pain, but the drummer kept out of reach.

Over head the clouds swirled in the cool evening breeze and what was left of Khonshu's altar was bathed in the light of the full moon. Dan cried out in agony, his muscles straining; his clothes suddenly felt far too tight. He tore at his jacket, his shirt, his own skin, ripping and tearing with his sharp fingernails. His jaws ached, his teeth cut the inside of his cheeks, and his chest was burning. The sounds of the night were too terribly loud.

Working almost on autopilot, Angie silently heaved the conked-out Goth into a fireman's carry and made it back to the garage as quickly as possible. But still, as cool as he seemed outwardly, the little drummer boy could not ignore what he had seen. A scream in the night turned into a howl as he slammed and locked the door behind him, and Angie knew a single truth:

He was, and had been, properly medicated for eleven full days.

* * *

"Mikki!" Vert rushed from his new truck—when he could not sleep, working on cars relaxed him and put his mind at peace, so he had been in the garage for quite some time. "Angie, what happened?"

Angie gently eased his friend down as Vert called for a medic. "W-we were just offering some prayers to Khonshu when…"

He trailed off as Mikki was carried away on a stretcher. One of the medics mentioned head trauma.

"Monster," Angie said, and after a moment added, "Dan."

"A monster got Dan?" Vert asked, incredulous. Angie snapped at him.

"No, the monster was Dan!! We were praying to Khonshu and Dan started complaining that he didn't feel well. Then he turned into a freaking werewolf and knocked Mikki against the rocks!!"

"Angie, there's no such thing as werewolves."

"Yeah? Well, someone oughta tell him that!!"

Vert whirled around to see where the drummer had pointed to; indeed, a huge wolf-like creature, startlingly similar to what inhabited the Realm of Eternal Night, was tearing through the ranks of the base agents. A man in a Kevlar uniform grabbed Vert and Angie by the shoulders and forced them into a corridor.

"Inform Tezla and the other drivers of the situation," he said, mentioning something about a security control room. "We're locking down the garage. That thing is toast."

"But he'll kill you!"

"So who wants to live forever? Give my regards to the major, kid; tell your old man Sandoval remembers."

"Remembers what?" But the agent closed and locked the doors. The sirens and flashing lights that filled the air were accompanied by a command for Unit 7 to report to the garage. Area 53's agents and staff were somewhat lacking after the latest Hulk disaster, so this was the best they could do. Vert looked grim.

"Those soldiers are getting torn apart in there," he said. "We've got to wake Mel. She's the only one who stands a chance against that thing."

"Are you crazy? You saw what she did to the Ninjas! That monster is still Dan deep down inside. He's just a little confused about his transformation is all."

Vert railed into the drummer. "There was no 'transformation' and that's not Dan!"

Angie didn't seem to hear him. "Of course, I'd be freaked out too if I became a hairy scary werewolf."

"There are no such things as werewolves!" Vert said, shaking him. "There was no transformation, that's not Dan, and _you_ are _crazy!"_

"Vert," he said gently, "I-I-I know what I saw."

"You never know what you see! You see and hear people who don't exist! You're insane!"

"Why won't you believe me?!" Angie cried. He broke the blonde's grasp and ran off. With more on the line than someone's feelings, Vert rolled his eyes and made for the reck room. He had no time to spare.

* * *

Vert urgently explained the situation to Wylde and Mel. After all, the only racer who could take on such a beast was the cutest little Metal Maniac. When Mel strutted out in her armored costume, he knew things would be okay.

"Where'd you get an X-Men uniform, anyway?"

"At Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," she plainly stated. Mel and Wylde followed Vert's swift pace to the garage. "Mom absolutely demanded I go last summer. It's a good thing, too, or I never could've taken those Ninjas."

"This is it," said Vert. Mel could hear the snarling creature, knocking men aside like ragdolls. Shots echoed through the garage.

Mel's eyes flashed orange and she ripped the keypad off the doorframe and forced her way in.

The creature stared at her, lips curled in a snarl to show its teeth. It was not unlike an overlarge German shepherd—if the dog was eight feet tall and had a nasty case of rabies.

"Bad Dog," Mel hissed. She extended her claws and broke into a run. The creature growled and snarled at her, snapping its massive jaws as she did a handspring over it and slammed both boots into the small of its back.

The beast roared in anger. It grabbed Mel by her ankle and threw her across the room but she managed to swing around a pole and land on her feet. Mel crouched slightly, hissing and showing her fangs; she clawed at the air in annoyance, and the large dog creature sneered and growled. They leapt at each other, wrestling for dominance, and Mel grinned in spite of herself.

In all of the confusion, no one noticed Angie Halloran quietly slip in from an alternate entrance. All the same, Angie tried to ignore them as well, for he abhorred violence in any form. He was so quiet that Mel and the monster never noticed him go for Morrison; they never noticed him open her back doors, nor did they notice the small objects he fished out from the endless packrat sea that was the back of the van.

And now, all Angie need was to not be noticed for a little while longer. He had his plan, and all he could do now was hope.


	13. You Got the Silver

It had Mel pinned now, but she managed to position her legs to double kick. The monster landed fifteen feet away on the hood of Krakatoa's car, smashing the windshield in the process.

The monster crouched, taking a moment to brush broken glass out of its fur. Mel advanced, claws at the ready.

"Oh, I can do this all night," she hissed.

It growled, ready to defend itself as Mel lunged forward, but suddenly she stopped.

"No!" Angie cried, throwing himself between the two. "It's over, please, just stop!"

"Angie, get away from the monster!" Vert called from the doorway. The injured aforementioned monster growled, flicking its ears back, but Angie stood defiantly between it and Mel.

"He's not a monster," Angie insisted. "His name is Daniel Derek Dresden and you are hurting his feelings!!"

The monster growled unappreciatively.

"Dan, cut it out," he said sternly. "That's enough. Don't make me do something I'll regret."

The monster roared and moved to bite Angie but stopped, choking; the drummer had shoved dried flowers into its mouth. Angie grabbed his face with both hands and held tightly. It tried to scream, unable to fight Angie for all its pain, and crumpled up into a ball. The monster fell to the concrete floor and vomited up some of the flowers. And then, the strangest thing happened…

The monster's pale blonde fur began to recede and its bone structure shifted, until it resembled a much hairier version of a man they all knew.

"Dan!" Wylde exclaimed and ran to his old friend's side. Vert stood in shock for a moment but followed.

"He really is a werewolf…"

"Dan, I need you to listen, okay? Dan? Dan, look at me!" Angie held Dan's face in both hands. "You need to concentrate and calm down. I know this is scary but there'll be plenty of time to freak out after the moon sets.

Dan clutched his chest so tightly his claws dug into his biceps. "What—what did you do?"

"I force-fed you some dried wolfsbane. I'm sorry, but you didn't give me any choice."

"No, to m-my face. Like a branding iron…"

Angie held out the pentagram necklace for everyone to see. "One hundred percent sterling silver. Don't worry, the mark will fade."

"Hurts!" he barked, fangs re-extending. Angie pressed the pendant and chain against the cuts on Dan's arm. His howl turned into human sobbing.

"The wolfsbane and silver are weakening you but you still have to fight, Dan. Don't let the beast win. You're a good person, and strong, and I know you can do this."

Tears dripped onto the concrete. Mel put an arm around the furry blonde.

"Oh, Dan, I'm so sorry," she said, holding him. "I should have smelled you under all that fur. I can't believe I didn't notice you were wearing pants. I'm so sorry I hurt you."

"What's happening to me?" Dan asked shakily. "I don't understand what's going on."

"Do you believe in werewolves?" asked a gruff voice. The next sound any of them heard was the kerchak a shotgun made when as a round was being chambered. Dan clenched his fists, digging into his palms with his claws.

"I didn't," the man in the Kevlar uniform continued, "until twenty-seven minutes ago when this freak of nature eviscerated my best men. And now I'm going to put down this dog."

Dan's eyes widened in horror. "I…I killed them?" His gaze circled the garage; the wrecked cars, the smoking guns, the crumpled forms. "I did all of this…?"

"Yep. And I'm not letting you get away with it, either. Sorry, Fido, but it's time for the big sleep. Say your prayers."

"Wait! Agent Sandoval, please, Dan couldn't control himself." Vert pleaded frantically for the life of the former Street Breed. "The medics are carrying off your guys right now. See? Look, they're rushing because they're all still alive. The Kevlar saved them from the worst of it. Dan didn't kill anyone!"

"Not yet. But what about the next full moon? It's only a matter of time." He raised the gun to Dan's forehead. "But your time's up, you filthy mutt."

Vert grabbed the barrel and pushed it away. "Look, would you just stop this?"

"No, Vert," Dan said tiredly. He stared at his clawed hands, pale-yellowish fur covering his knuckles. "He's right. I'm a monster. There's no telling what I'll do." He choked back a sob, looking up at Agent Sandoval with big brown eyes. "Please, kill me."

"Dan, snap out of it!" Wylde demanded, and slapped him hard across the face. Dan whimpered submissively and shrunk away.

"Please, Agent Sandoval," said Vert. "What about my old man? What would Major Wheeler say?"

"Don't think you can change my mind with puppy dog eyes, kid."

"You said you owed my father. Please, let this repay your debt. Don't kill my friend, Agent Sandoval. Please, let him go. We'll take care of him."

"Sir, be reasonable! Dan can't be held responsible for his actions. He was just following his natural wolfy instincts and—oh, shiny!"

In order to realize just what was taking place, one must understand something very important: When Angie Halloran was stressed out, the adrenaline burned through his medication. This ensured that after a werewolf attacked his friend, after defeating said werewolf, and after pleading for this same werewolf's life, that he was as clean and sober—and as crazy—as he could ever be. In such a mentally fuzzy state one plus one equals cantaloupe and pushing the button on the control panel that was connected to the block-and-tackle winch suspending the car's engine block directly over Agent Sandoval's head was perfectly logical.

And so, Angie pressed the shiny, glowing button, and Agent Sandoval got the next in a long line of unwelcome surprises in his already unfortunate military career.

No one heard the snap of bones breaking over the clatter the chain made while it fell through the pulley. Sandoval was knocked back by the falling engine block, which knocked the shotgun out of his hands on the way to the ground, discharging the armament. Mel, Wylde, Dan and Vert huddled together and screamed at the noise.

After a little while, the shaken drivers realized that they were okay.

"Santa Maria!!" cried Agent Sandoval. "You little twerp, you broke my arm!"

Angie blinked innocently. "Who, me?" He yelped and ducked as the agent threw his left jab, causing Sandoval to slam his knuckles into the console. So now, on top of having broken his right arm—probably in several places—his left hand _really_ hurt.

Wylde's fist rammed into the agent's face with a satisfying thwack and he fell unconscious to the floor.

"Yeah, that's right, pal. Don't mess with a New Yorker." He snarled for good measure, and then remembering his confused, furry friend, kneeled back down. "Are you okay, Dan? No stray shot got you?"

Dan stared at him, too exhausted to be angry. "You should have let him kill me."

"I suppose I should have mentioned severe depression was a common side effect of the wolfsbane," Angie muttered. He cooed, playing with a small gray mouse who had wandered too close. It scurried up and down his shoulders, nibbling at his hoodie.

"Angie," said Vert, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

He shrugged, never looking away from his captive playmate; he decided he would call it George. "No biggie. The weird things that you've had to accept up to this point are mostly science things like extraterrestrials and supercharged cars that can travel to other dimensions. Most people think of werewolves as fairy tales. Aliens and werewolves shouldn't mix. Does not compute, 404 error, item not found. Divided by zero. It doesn't make sense so it's only natural you'd think I was a kook."

"So we're cool?"

"We're groovy."

Vert smiled. "Dude, you really saved the day."

Angie stared in shock, completely oblivious as George the mouse scampered to freedom. "I did _what_ now?!"

* * *

When the sun came up, Dan reverted back to his human form, but he would never be the same. He was sent to the infirmary to share a room with Mikki, and the pair had a lengthy discussion on the seeming futility of life. Bad things happened to good people more and more lately. Hard times visited everyone at some point or another, bringing down pain to the already grieving, and there was seldom escape for anyone. There was nothing anybody could do, because sometimes, shit just happened. Though this obviously was a terribly depressing subject, Dan was glad to know someone understood the way he was feeling, and it was even better to know that Mikki didn't blame him for anything.

Later that morning, Nick Fury came to visit. Dan sat straight up in bed.

"At ease, mutt. Yeesh." Fury rolled his eye. "Yer blood work came back, Dresden. Seems after yer run-in with them dire wolves in the Realm of Eternal Night, we missed a virus that was introduced to the wound. The virus causes radical genetic mutation, hence the wolf-out."

Dan swallowed hard. "What, ah, what about those agents I…sir?"

"All alive, all fully conscious, all infected." He paused. "Of course we have our best geneticists working on a cure. But…having a squadron of werewolves on the company dime is tempting. We're going to see if they can keep their human minds in wolf form and put 'em through specialized training. You're welcome to join, Dresden, seeing as you made it all possible."

Working for SHIELD as an attack dog, getting sent in to tear apart whatever mess needed a painful end…Was that really him? Was he an animal now? A soldier? A weapon…?

"I'm…sorry, Colonel, but I can't. I don't think it'd be a good fit."

Fury shrugged. "Suit yourself. You'll stay here working for Tezla then. But every full moon we'll have to lock you up. For the other driver's safety, you understand."

"Yeah, okay. I understand."

Fury nodded and left. Dan sulked, but he was sure he had made the right decision.

"Good morning, Starshine!" Angie beamed. He came in with a breakfast tray in each hand and a basket of purple flowers balanced on his head. Mikki dug right in.

The food smelled great, but something in the air made Dan weak, queasy… He gagged. "Angie…is that fresh wolfsbane?"

"Well, it's either that or I put silver on you. The moon will still be a little full tonight and we've got to take precautions."

"I feel sick to my stomach just being around those things and you bring me a huge breakfast! What are you, high?"

"Only a little bit. It takes a while for my medication to take effect." Angie touched the basket and frowned. "Fine, I'll get rid of them. But please ignore your natural wolfy instincts to bite me. The last thing we need is a werewolf with schizophrenia!"

Dan gaped after the strange boy skipped away singing, as if silently asking, "Da hell?!" and he groaned.

"I wonder if Nick Fury left yet…"


	14. Purple Haze

A?N: I would like to say thank you to both Daughter of Sekhmet and thee crimson for reviewing the last chapter. You like reading it, I like writing it.

* * *

In the dark, wee hours of a lonely morning, the new AcceleRacers, new Silencerz, new whatever-they-were-called-bunch-of-misfit-drivers slept ever so peacefully. The cars in the garage were parked and empty; the beds were occupied. But in the control room off of Tezla's lab, at the console that governed the PA system…mischief was afoot. Not a whole leg; just afoot.

Strong, slender, spidery fingers spliced a few wires together. Staring down at what he had done, the owner of those spidery fingers chuckled. His work was done. And now, his fun could begin.

With a playful grin, those spidery fingers ran across his dearest Wren's frets, and a deep thrum echoed throughout the base. Jimmy fiddled with his distortion knobs for a moment before he finally began his song.

* * *

Dr. Tezla awoke to what sounded like the Hendrix version of The Star Spangled Banner. Muttering in Polish, he quickly dressed and made his way to the control room. It was too damn early to have to deal with this. What had possessed one of the drivers to pull something so infantile? Of all the obnoxious—!

Tezla noted the grumbling, half-asleep drivers that groggily exited their rooms. Banjee seemed especially peeved. Most, if not all, of the base's occupants seemed to be headed towards the control room, though Jimmy Edogawa was conspicuously absent. Tezla knew he had better get to the control room first, because if Banjee got his hands on Jimmy, the tiny guitarist would be in a world of hurt.

Even as he shambled sleepily among them, Angie seemed to be the only one not annoyed by his band mate's actions.

"And the rocket's red glare," he hummed along to the music. He smiled, yawned and stretched, turning to face Alec and the Wheeler twins so he was walking backwards. "I want pancakes. You guys want pancakes?"

The only answer the drummer received was an incoherent growl. He nodded knowingly and discreetly whispered to someone who was not there that it was too early.

The audience that had gathered booed and hissed, complaining that it was five in the morning. Jimmy really poured it on thick for the closing chords, however, and brought some drivers back to his side. He launched into and unbelievably virtuous solo before finally slamming out the last line. Jimmy lay down on his whammy bar and twisted a distortion knob until the noise ceased.

"Good morning, Area 53! Are you ready to race?!"

Though not fully conscious just yet, a handful of drivers readily cheered and admitted that they were indeed ready to race. The drivers desperately in need of coffee, however, voiced their contempt.

"Boo!"

"You suck!"

"It's five in the freaking morning!"

"FREEBIRD!!"

Not even cricket noise could penetrate the silence that filled the base at that last comment. The crowd made a space, and Porkchop was left standing there, alone with his shame. He whimpered and lowered his eyes.

"Why on Earth would you make such noise at this ungodly hour?" Tezla asked, crossing his arms. St. Jimmy looked the doctor over, raising an eyebrow, smirking and scoffing in response.

"Why the Hell not?" the Saint asked. He shrugged. "I just felt like shaking things up a bit is all. Sometimes you just gotta say 'what the fuck.'"

"Me cago en diez on what the fuck!" Banjee cried in a rage. Skeet had to hold him back as he ranted in a mixture of English and Spanish, touching on everything from Jimmy's hygiene and parentage, all the way to his choice in sexual partners—many of which, Banjee claimed, were farm animals.

"Cool it, Banjee!"

"—kick your fluffy purple head all the way back to the Keebler Workshop!!"

St. Jimmy did not like the implications of this statement. He fixed cold eyes on Banjee Castillo, stepped back into the control room, and locked the door behind him.

"Hey! We're not done here!" Tezla pounded on the door. "You've got until the count of three to open up, Edogawa, or I'll over-ride the computerized lock and send Banjee in there after you."

The opening bars of "Freebird" filled the air. Banjee sneered and cracked his knuckles.

"One!" Tezla warned. "Two!" He motioned for Gig to float over, but he never got to three.

"Look! The Wheel!"

The doctor's gaze snapped to where Esmeralda pointed. The third ring of the Wheel of Power, and only the third ring, was in a frantic gyroscopic spin. The alarm was going crazy and drivers all but forgot about St. Jimmy Edogawa.

Tezla over-rode the locks but sidestepped the purple haired menace completely. This sort of frenzied activity in the Wheel was precisely what he'd been praying for; ever since he and Mr. Fantastic had discovered that the new fourth ring of the Wheel of Power allowed them to program the portal for the Racing Realm of their choosing, the portal had ceased to open by itself. Unfortunately, the sole track they were unable to crack was the road to the sphere, the Ultimate Race. There was something missing, some trigger mechanism that would allow for the next step. What that step was Tezla did not know, but he desperately wanted to find out.

And now that the Wheel was turning, he definitely had his chance.

Jimmy continued to play, but after some time passed and he had not been tackled, he looked up at the doctor in confusion.

"Oi, Uncle Tezzie," he said, his fingers still on the move. "What's up? I thought you were ticked."

"There are more important matters at hand."

"Like what?"

"The Wheel of Power is moving of its accord. That hasn't happened since it came into SHIELD's possession and it could be very important." Tezla checked and rechecked various monitors, jamming away on the keyboard, typing in commands. Finally, he could take the Southern rock no longer and snapped at the tiny guitarist. "Would you cut that out?! I'm trying to concentrate!!"

Jimmy quietly mumbled an apology and the music stopped.

"Much better." Tezla continued his diagnostics, only to discover the energy levels that had surged during the frenzy of the spinning to drop back to an idle. The third ring slowed to a crawl and became stationary.

Tezla examined the Wheel, dismayed at the ceasing of movement. Usually, the Wheel was in a constant gentle gyroscopic rotation, but all four rings were now completely still.

"No! Don't stop, why is it stopping?!"

The Wheel had no answer, of course, but Jimmy jokingly played a funeral march. Dr. Tezla glared at him, but a movement caught his eye. The third ring was spinning. Tezla watched it intently and an idea hatched in his brain. That idea swiftly evolved into a hypothesis as he ran from the control room to the catwalk above the garage to watch the oversized hologram of the Wheel of Power rotate.

"Jimmy!" he called out over his shoulder. "Come out through the doorway."

"Why? What for?" But though he did not understand, he complied.

"Stop playing," he said, not taking his eyes from the Wheel. As Jimmy ceased his strumming, the Wheel sputtered and stalled.

"Play something else," Tezla commanded.

The Saint began to pick out the hook from "Walk This Way" by Aerosmith. Once again, the third ring rotated, even matching his speed and rhythm.

"Now stop."

Jimmy obliged, as did the Wheel.

"Now play something else."

Jimmy performed the opening to "Layla." The Wheel of Power, it seemed, was a fan of his.

"Now stop."

Forgetting their anger, many drivers began to speculate what this could possibly mean.

Angie giggled like a school girl. "Jimmers, you made the Wheel of Power dance! It's the miracle of St. Jimmy!" This idea seemed hilarious to the drummer, and he smiled broadly. Tezla ignored him, uttering his thoughts aloud but addressing no one.

"The reverberations of the guitar strings cause the Wheel of Power to move," he said. "But only one ring of the four reacts. Only the third ring of the Wheel moves with the music. But why?"

Angie chuckled all too knowingly for the doctor's tastes. "Maybe because there's only one auditory stimulus; only one ring's moving and there's only one kind of sound. If we tried some other unique audio sources we might get different reactions." Angie's eyes brightened and he grinned like a maniac. He exclaimed, "Holy Polyphonic Spree!! Nona, you should _totally_ sing something!"

Nona raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking over the Wheel, unsure of how to proceed.

"I don't know," she said. "Do you think it would really have an effect? It just sounds so crazy."

"Man, _life_ is crazy, and so am I."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Angie may have a point," Tezla said. "In any case, we'll never know unless we try. It's crazy, but it just might work."

Nona nodded in agreement tot heir plans. Dr. Tezla instructed Jimmy to stay silent as control to their little experiment. He also announced that any drivers who wished to do so were perfectly welcome to return to bed or seek out their breakfast.

"Energy readings have stabilized," Gig reported. "We are ready to begin."

With a shrug and a nod, Nona let loose a verse from 'With A Little Help From My Friends,' the Joe Cocker arrangement. Naturally, if there was any force that could move the outer most ring, it was Nona's vocalizations. As soon as the sweet and beautiful sound came to an all too abrupt end, the fourth ring of the Wheel—the only one to react to Nona's solo—slowed and finally stopped. Power levels were very high while she sang, but dropped after she stopped. Dr. Tezla made mental note of the effects, but could not tear his gaze away from Nona. She was a striking image of Keesha, except of course for the dreadlocks and rock-n-roll attire. And of course, the blue eyes.

Nona grimaced at him. "What are you looking at?"

"That was beautiful," he said quickly. "You have a wonderful voice, truly exquisite…Just like your mother."

She glared and he cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should sing in various pitches and rhythms," he suggested, "To see if we can pinpoint a pattern to the Wheel's reactions."

"If you say so," she said with a roll of her eyes, and took a deep breath.

This time around Nona picked something not so sickly sweet: 'Cherry Bomb' by The Runaways. Still only the fourth ring reacted, the other three remaining relatively still. Dr. Tezla made observations of everything; every note sung; every slightest motion of the Wheel. But Nona did not like the way he kept looking at her. Tezla's eyes, though bright with curiosity, were also filled with regret and longing.

Worst of all, they looked like her own.

"I think, just to be on the safe side," Tezla said, "we should try one more. Only to be absolutely certain that I have everything I need."

Nona glared and breathed deep, inhaling, exhaling. Even lacking a microphone, her powerful rendition of Aretha Franklin's 'Chain Of Fools' rang through the garage and to the barracks, where off duty agents who had been enjoying their down time were soon drawn to the experiment. Nona's singing was so beautiful Dr. Tezla could only stand and stare until she had finished every note.

"Um, okay, thank you," he finally said. "I believe that's it."

"But still only the fourth ring reacted," Nona pointed out.

Tezla nodded. "Yes, and only the third ring reacted when Jimmy played." He stroked his goatee thoughtfully.

Angie smiled innocently at the doctor. "That's so cool how Jimmy's guitar and Nona's voice spun the two outer rings. But what about the two inner rings? Maybe we should try Nona's bass or my drums next."

Tezla continued to stroke his goatee. "It _is_ plausible, I suppose; after all, the guitar and the singing—"

Angie squealed happily and turned to Nona, bright eyes dancing with excitement. "I'm gonna go check the garage for the most acoustically viable spot and then I'll take one of the twins to go set up our gear!"

"I'll help," Vert volunteered. He had been watching and listening the entire time, entranced by Nona's voice, as he always was. Somehow, this time was different, and it was all he could do to get away from her. "Nona, would you prefer your stand up bass or the six-string fretless?"

"Fretless."

"With or without distortion pedals?"

She thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Guess."

Vert grinned. "Distortion pedals. Sweet." He winked and followed Angie to the van. Esmeralda chuckled and crossed her arms.

"Wouldja lookit him step and fetch," she twanged. "The surf rat's got it bad for you."

"Yep."

"Does he stand a chance?"

"Nope."


	15. Disconcerting

A/N: Jeebus H. Christmas. I believe I have not updated since before season one of Battle Force 5 premiered. Okay, so I've had some stuff going on with my life, my boyfriend and I have been getting really serious, I'm starting to make some new friends... My dad's an asshole. Just...gaah! I hate his drunk loser self and his drunk loser friends and his drunk loser brother. That's all I want to say. I haven't even checked my email in months because my asshole dad gave his asshole brother my email address and he won't stop messaging me, the drunk perv. I hate my uncle. I hate my dad. I hate a significant portion of my dad's family.

Aside from depression and hatred and avoidance, I have also been helping out with my nephew, looking (unsuccessfully) for a second job, and just generally doing other stuff. Grr. Okay, enough of the pms talk, on with the fanfic. Maybe if I post something I'll feel like I've done something with my life...

* * *

Skeet naturally expected 'weird' now that he was working for Tezla again. After all, he had seen some pretty unusual things back on Highway 35. And his expectations so far had been met in spades: extra dimensional racetracks filled with huge obstacles and nasty monsters, spies among the drivers, even home-style down time with people he barely knew treating him like family. Admittedly, Dan Dresden becoming a werewolf came way out of left field, but the 'gator hunting good ol' boy took it in stride.

Still, none of this quite met the sight of a mentally unstable celebrity walking barefoot through the garage playing a harmonica. Angie Halloran was such a silly person, but Skeet couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. They shared a kindred spirit; a passion for percussion and a fun-loving attitude. Plus Angie was kind of cute, but Skeet had yet to come to terms with his feelings about that.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Skeet called out to Angie. "What are you up to, man?"

Angie blinked in surprise and looked up with a smile. "I'm checking for the best acoustics," he answered politely. He continued to play as he wandered, this time in the former Road Beast's direction. Skeet smiled pleasantly.

"That's some good playin' for jest checkin' the acoustics o' this here garage."

"Well, thank you, Skeet," he said. "That's very kind of you to say."

"And I mean it, too. I ain't never heard the blues harp as hauntin' as that."

Angie continued to wander and play while Skeet followed with his hands in his pockets, trying to place a somehow haunting tune. At a loss, he made small talk.

"So, you was a street racer 'fore you got all rich n' famous?"

"Yeah, I was with the Lost & Found," he replied. "But mostly I just worked as a mechanic."

Suddenly the music of the harmonica took on an almost ghostly quality, the melody echoing evocatively throughout the garage. Angie stopped where he stood, looking around. Hesitating for a moment, he cautiously played a few random notes, followed by some scales, and finally something so sad and beautiful Skeet felt as if he were going to cry. It seemed familiar somehow, and made him long for home.

Choking back the wave of emotion that had so suddenly taken him, Skeet's gentle gaze fell upon the little drummer who could break his heart with a song. "Where did you hear something like that, Angie?"

"It's from a rock opera."

"Which one?"

Angie looked at him with pride. "The one I wrote!"

Skeet skewed his eyebrows in disbelief as the young man bounded off, humming his own melody.

* * *

Vert thought to himself how totally sweet things were going as he propped up the Washburn XB600 on its stand, already plugged into a custom-built amplifier system arranged just so. He felt like a total nerd sometimes, the way he loved the Foundlings so much. The music they made was incredible—not just rock n' roll; these were musicians with real talent, musicians who could play ANYTHING and make it their own, as long as they poured on a little soul. Jimmy was an unbelievable virtuoso on every string instrument he picked up. Angie's drumming was amazing in its own right, to say nothing of his poetry or the ridiculous variety of instruments he could play. Nona's bass lines would give most people carpal tunnel, though her fingers were not nearly so nimble as those of St. Jimmy, but no one could compare to her voice. She was a nightingale; whether crooning, screaming, belting or operating, she was the queen of the night time world.

Maybe Vert was biased, though. It was true he was madly in love with Nona Maddox, even if she wouldn't give him the time of day. It was true that the only thing she appreciated about him was occasional manual labor. It was true that on several occasions Nona had told him she thought he was creepy and would he stop reading her diary before she broke his thumbs. But so what? True love conquered all in the end, didn't it? Sooner or later, Nona would realize what a great guy he was and come to appreciate all he did for her.

Nona sauntered in to lean against the amps as she waited for the tests to begin, and Vert's heart went all a flutter. Even the annoyed look she leveled at him filled him with joy. Only the ocean had ever thrilled him so in all his years on Earth and Vert pined for the day when he could ask for her hand. For now, however, Vert would settle for her not to think he was a complete jackass.

This, of course, was merely wishful thinking.

"Pretty sweet, huh?" he asked with a grin. "Who knew music would be the key to the portals? This is so rad!"

"Mm-hmm," Nona muttered looking at her nails.

"You, ahh, you excited to see how the rest of your group pans out?"

"Meh," she said with a disinterested shrug.

Vert opened his mouth to say something, but abruptly shut it, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at his feet. "So, uh, I was going to get a smoothie from the galley after the tests. Do…do you want to come with me?"

Nona raised an eyebrow out of incredulity. "Excuse me?"

"W-well, I just thought—"

"Well you thought _wrong,_ blondie. I'm not interested."

Okay, ouch. "I said I was sorry!" he insisted. "It was stupid, okay? Love makes you do crazy things—" Nona rolled her eyes at him—"I figured you just needed a little push in the right direction. Everything just spiraled out of control. I'm sorry, Nona. I'm really sorry."

"Don't apologize, kiddo. You were just following your own self-destructive instincts."

"I thought we could at least be friends like before. Jesus, Nona, you don't have to be such a bitch abou—"

Vert's words caught in his throat as he struggled to keep his balance. With a strength and grace he had not known her to possess, Nona grabbed him by his shirt collar, knuckles pushing into his Adam's apple.

"That's _Queen_ Bitch," she said, and let go. Mentally kicking himself, Vert watched her walk away, shaking her ass so he would know what he was missing.

* * *

After a time, Mikki managed to calm Angie enough so he would behave and follow Tezla's instructions.

Angie, smiling politely, waited patiently for the signal to begin. As soon as Tezla gave him the go-ahead he charged forward into a crashing Keith Moon style jam. Angie's energy was incredible, as was that of the Wheel of Power. The innermost ring of the Wheel swirled and spun erratically with his hard rock beat until he was instructed to pause. Angie smashed one last cymbal and rested. It went on like that for a while; Angie played a minute or less before Tezla told him to stop for a bit and then change his style for the next part. After close to a half an hour of this the doctor had enough and told Angie to stop. Nursing a headache, he checked over his notes and asked for a break before the bass tests.

There was not much surprise in the final tests; by now, Dr. Tezla expected music to affect the Wheel, though he still did not quite understand how. Oh, he knew why; because the Accelerons made it so. But how they did it and how it affected their plans were answers that both puzzled and eluded him.

The innermost ring was affected by percussion, such as cymbals, drums, and bells; the second by a deeply throbbing bass. The third ring responded only to a guitar, and the fourth ring to melodic vocalizations. So far, only to Nona's vocalizations, but could he be sure?

Tezla locked himself in his lab until the next day, at which point he called a meeting to discuss his findings. With so many drivers in his employ, the cozy conferences such as those held at the Acceledrome were no longer feasible and so Tezla went back to the epic flat-screen scoreboard speeches used at the Handler Proving Grounds. Drivers from every walk of life gathered in the garage to hear the word of Tezla.

"I feel like I'm off to see the Wizard," Jaakko whispered disrespectfully. "'Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.' Yeesh."

"After discovering that the Wheel of Power reacts to sound," boomed Tezla over the public address system, "I spent half the night trying to ascertain precisely what notes effected its movements, what pitch and timbre elicited the strongest reaction. Using audio samples from every musical genre on the planet, and some from the moon, I attempted to discern if any other music had the same effect as those we recently witnessed."

He paused momentarily, building anticipation.

"Nada," he said dryly. "Zip. Big fat goose egg. I played everything from AC:DC to ZZ Top, from traditional Scandinavian folk music to Cuban techno to Japanese death metal, and it added up to exactly nothing until I played a few tracks from the Foundlings' debut album 'Get Lost.' The Wheel—all four rings of the Wheel of Power—spun, and energy levels spiked. However, there was a very limited response compared to what we saw the other day.

"Based on what we have I've determined that the music must be live and it must be played by the Foundlings. On the fourth ring of the Wheel of Power—" and here an image of alien writing appeared on the screen behind him—"the inscriptions made mention of a group of 'troubadours who will lead the way and follow after.'"

St. Jimmy nudged Mikki and cocked his head in Angie's direction. He frantically whispered "It's just like those lyrics. Do you think he was on to something?"

"Don't be stupid. It's just a coincidence."

"No such thing," Jimmy hissed back. The lyrics he referred to were from a rock opera Angie had composed in thirty-six hours time; he began the night of his brush with sanity when Assistant Director Maria Hill had tried to have him committed. Predictably enough, the piece was biographically themed around troubled kids from a desert town trying to make it big and the personal problems that afflicted them in a post 9/11 world. But the creepy part was a jaunty calypso number in which the crazed drummer extolled the virtues and powers of his band as troubadours of the planet itself, leading the way for change and following after the ones brave enough to make the first move. Their love would open the door…but to what?

"The music creates such reactions," Tezla continued, "that certain portals will only open while the music is playing. Though I don't yet understand to what purpose, the Accelerons built in the concept of troubadours as an integral part of the process. We need these Troubadours, these Foundlings, to open portals to the Warped Realm, the Monument Realm, and to get the Wheel of Power to reconfigure for the Ultimate Race through a portion of each realm and onward to the Acceleron home world."

* * *

A concert was planned for that afternoon; music played for purely scientific purposes. But many of the agents stationed there tried to get duty in the garage. After all, a free concert was a free concert, and who would pass on that?

Angie was excited. He had his drums set up just the way he liked them, his cowbells and cymbals were polished to sheen, and he had the best seat in the house for the concert—right between the guitar and the bass.

Jimmy and Nona were even nice enough to let him suggest a set list. Angie knew Tezla would probably only need just the one song; nonetheless, the drummer chose four erratically different numbers. All of them were originals—three from albums and one he had composed himself only recently—but Nona had a different idea for an opening number. Sometimes, when you are nervous, it helps to know that others have gone before you, and in the realm of music this is also true.

"I was thinking that maybe we'd throw 'em a curveball, open with a cover," Nona cocked an eyebrow as her gaze flicked to the drummer, letting slip the title and composer. "Haven't done too many since our club days. What say you, Angel Dave?"

"No problems on my end," he concurred. Nona nodded, and Jimmy smiled confidently.

Despite his roguish expression, Jimmy's inner child—the part of Jimmy's psyche that remembered how painfully bear mace had once stung his eyes—cringed in fear, sweating bullets. He knew the song their nightingale had proposed; it was obscure enough some might mistake it for original, but it was definitely a song he knew. The playfully hateful lyrics and uplifting melody were only one girl's final attempt at being nice.

It didn't take an astrophysicist to see Nona's patience with a certain Wheeler brother was wearing thin. Then again, persistence was only a recent development; perhaps if Vert had had the guts to make a move a year and a half ago he wouldn't be stuck so deep in the friend zone. But now? Now the boy just didn't know when to quit. Bad enough his first move is to goad his crush into a race with a date as the prize, but to act so unapologetic about it? So nonchalant? Vert was nothing but his usual dumbass self, sweet but idiotic, trying to act like everything was just peachy. He even had the audacity to flirt! Truly, blondie had balls…but not for long, if he wasn't careful.

Angie counted out the beat on his drumsticks, and in unison the Foundlings launched into a fantastic cover they thought the rest of the base could really dig. St. Jimmy strummed his chords, Nona plucked her strings, Angie beat his skins, and somewhere out of the auditory madness came a song. From the front of the crowded garage, Vert swore that Nona was looking right at him as she dove right in to the first verse. His heart skipped a beat.

**She's always living like she's running out of time  
Too much just ain't enough to keep her satisfied  
Her plastic card is filled with nothing comes to mind  
It's now her occupation that she's overqualified**

The looks are always so deceiving  
The truth is always misconstrued

Vert blinked several times in surprise. Were those the actual lyrics? Noticing his confusion, Mikki nudged him and told him to loosen up.

_**To you...  
Too much too soon  
Too little and now you're coming unglued  
Too much too soon  
Too late and now it sucks to be you  
Too much too soon  
Too little and now you're coming unglued  
Too much too soon  
Too late and now it sucks to be you too**_

"Dude," Mikki whispered. "Take it easy. People are staring."

**He's talking shit about how it's better way back when  
He lives every waking moment as a means to an end  
We are we are but I'm not  
I never used to be  
So god bless your fucking past and to hell with your glory**

The looks are always so deceiving  
The truth is always misconstrued

_**To you...  
Too much too soon  
Too little and now you're coming unglued  
Too much too soon  
Too late and now it sucks to be you  
Too much too soon  
Too little and now you're coming unglued  
Too much too soon  
Too late and now it sucks to be you too**_

Vert knew his brother was absolutely right, but there he was, transfixed as always. Whenever Nona sang, that was just the way it was, the way _he_ was. She mesmerized him every time. Somehow, though, this time felt different. Almost as if it was exactly what she meant to do. Vert couldn't explain why or how, but he felt in his soul that Nona was trying to make a connection, to tell him how she felt. Somehow, she knew this was the only way to get him to listen.

**She packs her bags and says goodbye and bon voyage  
Farewell we'll see you in hell I hope you rest in pieces  
Fuck you!  
Oh..oh oh oh oh...  
Oh..oh oh oh oh...**

_**Too much too soon  
Too little and now you're coming unglued  
Too much too soon  
Too late and now it sucks to be you  
Too much too soon  
Too little and now you're coming unglued  
Too much too soon  
Too late and now it sucks to be you too**_**Woah...oh oh oh oh..**

But the final sounds of the chorus were drowned out by cheering. Even the usually stoic, disciplined guards of Area 53 holstered their weapons long enough to applaud. With the incredible energy that surged through the Wheel of Power Tezla had all the information he needed, but he saw no harm in letting the band continue. The worst that could happen was a power surge, and it wasn't as if he had never blown every fuse in North America before.

Over all of the cheering, Vert still heard the declaration made by Angie and St. Jimmy, and he knew it was true, most of all for him. She didn't like him. She always said she hadn't; it only took this long for it to get through his thick skull. Nona egged on the crowd, announcing a number from their newest release, and Vert stalked off with a heavy sigh.

He hoped no one noticed him, but he was given no such luck.

* * *

A/N: ...Nope. No feeling of accomplishment. Maybe it'll hit me later.


	16. What Is Hip?

A/N: For those of you who may be wondering, I did start feeling rather accomplished the morning after the last chapter was posted. I baked cookies, I got some cleaning done, I made dinner for my family, and then later I helped my boyfriend clean at his place for a while. I'm feeling a lot better recently, actually. Vitamins and good sleep really make a difference. I'm thankful for my improving health, my loving boyfriend, and reviews. Happy Thanksgiving!

* * *

"Hey, wait up!" Mikki called, jogging after him. "Vert, are you okay?"

"No," he groaned in annoyance. Vert did not enjoy talking about his emotions; it made him feel weird. Bad weird. He wasn't giving anything up. If Mikki wanted to know what was going on, he could figure it out himself.

"You keep up this moping and soon you'll be more emo than I am," Mikki warned. "It's about Nona again, isn't it?"

Dammit! "I never said that."

"You didn't have to. We're twins. I know when something's wrong with you. We have—"

"Freaky twin ESP," Vert finished for him, rolling his eyes. "She doesn't want to go out with me, Mikki. She never liked me. I didn't want to give up before, but the way she looked at me when she was singing…it just hit me like a ton of bricks out there. I can never have her. She doesn't want me."

Mikki furrowed his brow in sympathy. "Nona's kinda stubborn, sometimes. Once you get on her good side—"

"I don't think I _can_ get on her good side, Mikki." Vert sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He leaned back against the doorframe. "I waited too long. I just obsessed over her, watching, too scared to say anything, and she… There's just something she said that really keeps bugging me, y'know?"

"What?"

"She said…Nona said dating me would be weirder than dating you."

Mikki rubbed the back of his neck and shied away. Vert furrowed his eyebrows.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That! You wouldn't look me in the eyes just now." Vert's eyes widened. "Ohmigod."

"Vert—"

"You dated! You went out with the girl I like and you didn't tell me?"

Mikki smiled sheepishly. "It was for two weeks the summer between eighth and ninth grade. We were fourteen, it hardly counted!"

Vert slapped away the gentle hand his brother tried to comfort him with. Mikki. What was so great about Mikki, anyway? He was just Vert with eyeliner and a self-destructive attitude. He dressed all in black and wrote crappy poetry. He'd been in a mental institution for trying to kill himself. He was Goth Vert. Vert with more scars. Vert with a cold hard dose of reality.

So what did that make him?

* * *

The crowd cheered as their opening number came to a close, and Jimmy and Nona bowed. She grabbed her microphone.

"Thank you, everyone, you are indeed a wonderful audience." There was more cheering at this, more applause and even whistles, and Nona smirked. "But we're just getting warmed up. That right there was one of my favorite licks from Green Day, but this next song is one I'm sure all you Foundlings fans know."

Angie struck up something slower and kind of blue, and with a little help from his friends, began an epic cut from their second album titled "The Mad Arab."

Nona and Jimmy met Abdul Alhazred in their school days, and did their best to avoid him ever after. Abdul was one of those sneering, self-destructive 'Oi! Oi!' spirit of '77 punks, bad to the bone and going nowhere fast. He didn't understand the world that hated him less than he hated himself, a young Muslim in an intolerant America who walked around with a Pakistani flag painted on the back of his leather jacket. He went looking for trouble everywhere, starting fights with anyone that looked at him funny. He loved to find the hangouts of racist white punks and taunt the skinheads about their heritage and sexuality.

The epitome of the angry young man, seventeen year-old Abdul met his fate one dark night beneath a rain of steel-toes boots. The moshpit had gone out of control, and when he punched a guy twice his size in the neck, the big lug and his buddies ganged up on the little madman. And so it was that Abdul went out fighting, just as he had always wanted to.

**Oh, somewhere in another time, maybe  
You'll wield Zulfikar and strike them down  
But today you're just a kid like any other  
And the rubber soles come raining down, Oh-whoah-ohhhhhhhh**

**You were crazy, ohhhh, you mad Arab  
So angry, so alone, so full of hate  
**_**Stomping in the moshpit**_**  
You can't run from the end  
Run away, can't run away  
**_**Stomping in the moshpit**_

Tezla hadn't even needed the entirety of Too Much Too Soon to determine that the Foundlings were indeed the troubadours spoken of, but what it meant was still a mystery. It would take more research. Perhaps there was something he had missed in the inscriptions, perhaps even an archeological discovery not as of yet found. What was the purpose of a troubadour? There had to be clues somewhere, and he would not rest until he unraveled the truth.

As fate would have it, the doctor did not have to wait long.

The Wheel of Power was charging at a ridiculous rate, spinning in rhythm with the band. Years later, one of the SHIELD agents charged with guarding the base would swear he saw sparks fly from St. Jimmy's fingertips as he played faster and faster, burning the song's bridge with an awesome fury. One string snapped, and then two, and finally he was playing an absurdly complicated guitar part on only three strings while Nona belted out their tale.

The usual soft blue glow given off by the Wheel was swiftly shifting to an angry red; if a portal didn't open soon the results could be catastrophic. Tezla was terrified of a possible meltdown but he was unaware of a failsafe within the Wheel. A portal was already being opened; to where, there was no telling. But the roar of a 1971 Buick GSX two door hard top soon brought an end to their concert. Banjee and Skeet dove headlong out of the way; guards tossed Karma and Esmeralda off to the side. Mel shoved her Maniac brethren to safety and planted her feet, ready to hold back the threat.

Tires screeched and the car spun to a halt just a foot short of where the feral mutant stood. Whoever was driving the hard top cut the engine but Jefferson Airplane continued to play rather loudly until the door opened. Onto the concrete floor of the garage stepped a rather disheveled looking man in a tie-dyed shirt and a pair of filthy jeans. He shook the hair out of his eyes and blinked.

"Whoa," he said in a daze. "Trippy…"

The car randomly hurtling towards him had been a nonentity as far as St. Jimmy was concerned, but the sound of the man's voice was enough to tear him out of his trance.

"Harold?" He dropped his guitar pick in surprise. "Holy hashish, it's Harold the hippy. How the heck did you get here?"

"I'm not sure, Purple Haired One." He rubbed his head. "Someone dropped the dime to five-oh about the happy little shrubberies I tend in my basement and I was driving off into the sunset, pigs hot on my trail, when this groovy red light flared in front of my GSX. I was going through a tunnel of some sort and I came out here."

"No, no, not happening." Angie shook his head with incredulity and crossed his arms as he stood. "No way, that's too coincidental. A portal's not going to just randomly open for someone close and personal to us. I could see a random portal bringing some stranger, but not you."

"Just what are you implying, He of the Voices?"

"That the portal wasn't random," Angie asserted, taking a few steps forward. "The portal opening for you in particular was all part of a plan…the Accelerons' plan."

St. Jimmy smirked. "Dude, don't be so paranoid. Why would the Accelerons plan for Harold to come to us?"

"Not to you, Purple Haired One. And kudos to you for figuring it all out, Angie."

"Angie did good?"

"Angie did very good," he said, patting the drummer on the head. Confused, Jimmy turned to face the old hippy.

"The portal was programmed to bring me to the Wheel of Power and whoever controlled it; to the troubadours who energized it to a critical point. The Wheel of Power is a great energy source, and that energy is amplified by certain sound wave and life force patterns. When you play, a portal opens. If no destination is programmed into the Wheel, then a portal opens to the last programmed point; either to a place, or to the vehicle of the Acceleron observer. That's the way it is, and that is the way it has always been."

St. Jimmy stared, incredulous. He didn't comprehend what his old friend was telling him, and so he said what came to mind. "Dude, are you baked?"

Harold sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze. The sainted guitarist snapped.

"You are! You're high as a kite right now!" Disgusted, he shook his head. "Jeez, Harold, I don't know how you found this place but I can't believe you came here stoned."

"It is not as if I planned to come here, like, _today_. I had no way of knowing when the troubadours would trigger the portal matrix. Even with the increase in activity over the past seven years I figured I still had time to carouse before heading back to mine own home world."

"Mack," Fury said flatly, "You got zero time to explain yourself. I want answers or I want blood. Either way's fine with me."

Harold the hippie raised an eyebrow, looking quizzically at the armed guards who surrounded him, clicking off the safeties on their rifles. His demeanor quickly sobered, though he himself did not.

"These love beads were getting too tight anyhow."

Harold reached for the peace sign he wore around his neck and pulled, breaking the chain. There was a sizzle and a crack of circuits shorting out, accompanied by a great flash of light. One moment, Harold was standing there before them…

But in the next moment, there in a tie-dyed shirt and a pair of jeans that looked like they hadn't been washed since 1964, standing where Harold had been, was a seemingly reptilian humanoid creature with periwinkle skin and grey eyes.

The being grinned at the stunned drivers, agents and scientists with sharp teeth and raised his four-fingered hand in a Vulcan salute.

"Live long and prosper, dudes!" he said, and let out a stoner laugh.

* * *

A/N: And the plot wierdens! For those of you who don't remember Harold the Hippy, he was a minor character in Pedal to the Metal: AcceleRacers the Musical. He runs the music store where Jimmy used to work. Love and kisses! Read and review!


	17. There's a Starman Waiting

Taro hardly raised an eyebrow even while the aura of confusion swirled around him; after all this time working with Dr. Tezla, he expected weird. This was undoubtedly on the higher end of the spectrum in terms of strangeness, but it was certainly not the worst of anything he'd encountered. Mutants on his racing team, teammates getting captured by evil robots, long lost identical twins, drinking binges, suicide attempts, sleeping with the enemy, even werewolves—Taro had seen it all. Very little surprised him, nor would it ever again.

Still, as stoic as he was on the outside, Taro Kitano was not without his emotions, and among these was empathy for the feelings of others, especially his friends. It was not so difficult to see why Jimmy was upset, but getting him to talk about it would help, and so, Taro listened.

"He's always been this way, so I don't get why it bugs me now," he said, flustered. "When I first met the guy and he gave me my guitar in exchange for carrying some boxes, I knew what he was up to. They gave us those talks in school and I knew it was wrong. I knew drugs were bad news."

"But it didn't bother you then?" Though Taro already knew the answer, he asked anyway.

"Well, I guess pot's the least dangerous of drugs. Yeah, okay, you maybe hallucinate a _little_ if you smoke _way_ too much and you definitely get paranoid and hungry, but the worst it really does is completely kill your motivation and make you a useless and incompetent individual. Dumb and snack-happy is no way to go through life, but you never hear about some pot-head beating his wife to death like an alcoholic or anything. At least marijuana has some legitimate uses, like for cancer patients, and as fiber for paper and rope and stuff."

Taro frowned at him in disapproval.

"I was thirteen," he said with a shrug. Jimmy sighed, as if that said it all, and continued. "All those thirteen years I did exactly what my parents told me to in precisely the manner specified because as long as I did, they still acted like they loved me. And here's this messed up old flower child with a friendly smile. It was a whole new world for me, where people actually liked you for who you are, not what you could do for their precious public image…

"Who cared if he smoked a little weed? He didn't sell to others; everything he grew was for personal use. Harold never even let me have any, even when I was lonely and ready to try anything, he told me to stay in school. He was more of a father than I ever had or deserved. I didn't give a flying fuck about the drugs because he cared about me." Jimmy was quiet for a moment. "What he's doing is wrong of the eyes of the law, even though he isn't hurting anyone. But it still hurts that he would do that to himself when I know he's so much better than that."

Taro had seen it all, but addiction was something he had personally experienced. He looked away, and turning back said, "I'm a recovering alcoholic."

"Yeah, but you stopped drinking, Taro. Harold still smokes weed."

"It wasn't easy, and it doesn't always fix everything." Taro gazed intently at his diminutive friend. "The drugs and booze are just distractions. Once the hangover ends, once you come down from your high, you have trouble. Some of that trouble may be the result of your addictions, but most of it was there to begin with."

"We all have our problems, but we're not all drunks or potheads," Jimmy said dismissively, but too late he realized who he was talking to. Taro stood his ground, stoic as ever.

"He wouldn't have started unless he had something to run away from."

"No excuse for not quitting now."

Taro glared stoically at his younger friend. "By the same logic you should have stopped gambling by now."

"Buddy, that's neither here nor there and you know it."

"What about the groupies?" he pushed. "Losing yourself in the arms of a new woman every night, sometimes two or three. Is it easier to ignore the loneliness, Jimmy? Does it make you feel like a real guitar hero?"

Jimmy's expression was full of bloodlust but his voice quavered when he spoke. "Shut your damn mouth, Kitano."

"Does it help you forget that your parents never loved you?"

St. Jimmy Edogawa was small of stature, standing at only five feet and one inch, and was hardly one hundred pounds soaking wet. He was not, by any means, someone to be reckoned with in any type of altercation. Jimmy would rather walk away with a smile and survive, letting you think he was your friend, and get revenge later—after all, he knew he was physically not very strong, and with his fame, fortune and sly charm there were very few girlfriends of his enemies whom he could not seduce away—in fact, he had been quite adept at this back in high school. No, Jimmy understood that violence was not a means he could use to get his way.

But in this moment he knew only hatred. He hated Harold for his marijuana addiction. He hated his parents for kicking him out, for refusing contact even now that he had made it big. He hated Taro for saying what he had, for knocking down the wall of self delusion that he had so carefully constructed.

Jimmy's fist connected with the left side of Taro's face. The blow caught him by surprise, but being that Taro was much larger he was only knocked back a step. He did not hit Jimmy back, and he said nothing. He only stood there with his hand over his cheek and watched the guitarist walk away.

Jimmy hated Taro more than anything in that moment for more reasons than he could explain, but the reason he hated him most of all was because he knew Taro was right.

In his fury and his pain, Jimmy ignored the little part of himself that could see the truth, the meek little voice who told him Taro had a good point. Instead, he focused on what a pretty girlfriend Taro had…

(:P)

Dr. Tezla fidgeted nervously with his cufflinks as he waited his turn to speak with the base's new arrival. All his life, the good doctor had yearned to meet intelligent life from another planet, and it now seemed he would have to settle for just life.

The first to interrogate—ahem, _interview_ this being did not offer much hope; the Acceleron had been on Earth since the early nineteen-sixties and was quite steeped in the hippie culture. After so many years of functioning in such a way, he had, for lack of a better term, gone native, and they were now stuck with a drugged out space alien who declined to speak with anyone but the highest ranking scientist. At the very least, he was too kind and peaceful to pose a threat, but how could he possibly be of any help?

Security cleared him for entering the briefing room, and Tezla crossed the threshold.

"Well met, cosmic brother," Harold greeted, raising a can of Mr. Pibb. "Is today not a beautiful day for peace and love in this and every universe?"

Tezla chuckled awkwardly. "What an unusual thing to say. You really have been living among us since the sixties."

"Indeed I have, Earth man. Or would the term G-man perhaps be more appropriate?"

"The government does not own me," Tezla said with a frown. Harold gave a toothy grin.

"Ah, but you work for them, do you not, my friend? Or else I dare say I would not have found myself in such a facility."

"Or in such a predicament," Tezla countered. It was his turn to grin. "Illegal alien or not, you could still be charged with forgery and mail fraud."

The aforementioned illegal alien scoffed. Tezla was quiet while he waited for Harold to finish his rant about 'the man.' The doctor tried desperately not to smile but did not quite manage. The unearthly visitor ceased his indignant speech.

"Did I neglect to mention possession with intent to sell?" he asked, proud that he had not laughed. He brought out some pictures and statements to prove his point.

"Huh?"

"Before you escaped into the portal, the police were raiding your home," Tezla explained. "The authorities recovered fourteen live marijuana plants, as well as seven pounds of dried marijuana. And that, 'cosmic brother,' means you're in deep trouble."

"Ahh, indeed I am—unless I help you." Harold demurred, his silver eyes sparkling. "Don't give me that skeptical look, man. You think I don't know what all of this is about? You guys trying to intimidate me into giving up the goods? Well, I got news, G-man: it ain't gonna work."

"What could you possibly give us that we would want anyway?"

"Information, amigo. I'm from a whole other planet, with a society far more advanced than yours."

"And yet you still chose to spend your time on our fair planet peddling pot," Tezla shot back.

Harold snapped. "I never sold, not even once! Those happy little shrubberies were for personal use only!"

"If that's true, then why would you need so much?"

"The Acceleron metabolism is far different than that of a human," said Harold. He slumped in his chair a little and sighed. "We process things differently than you do. In many ways, our physiology is close to your planet's reptilian life forms. I needed to take in more of the drugs to get the desired effect in the first place, and over the years I've built up a tolerance. I've needed more and more."

Tezla eyed him carefully, quietly… As a scientist, he had to be cold and clinical, and it tended to leak into his personal life. This was probably why he had so many failed relationships. But as he saw the look of pain on Harold's wrinkled periwinkle face, he felt a connection.

When he spoke again, it was with a gentle voice. "When did you discover that aspect of the counter culture?"

Harold sighed again. "I was at this party in San Francisco," he started. "It was stupid. I'd been on Earth three years, working as a mail room clerk I don't even remember where, and I met this girl at the office. I figured socializing could only help me learn more about humans, so when she invited me out I said yes. And there was all kinds of stuff going on, there was this band and they had a really groovy light show going—I think it was The 13th Floor Elevators."

"Oh, I saw them in 1968. They were pretty good."

Harold ignored the interruption. "I wasn't familiar with the various controlled substances and figured 'why not?' And it felt great." He was quiet for a moment. Harold remembered how hectic things were, how good it felt for life to just slow down a while. He remembered singing and laughing with new friends; he remembered a girl in a paisley dress teaching him to dance. "It…helped me to forget... I was alone on your planet, not as strong as I once thought. I thought I could handle being the only one of my kind, but I was…wrong. I knew it was not lawfully acceptable, but it allowed me to forget my pain…at least for a short time."

Harold was quiet then, but presently he was surprised to find a gentle hand on his own. The Earthman looked over his glasses at the spaceman and grimaced.

"It isn't easy being alone."

Harold stood, throwing his chair out behind him.

"What do you know of loneliness?" he spat. "I've been stuck on this backwater rock for fifty-one Earth years. Everyone I ever loved is either dead or light-years away. Your primitive species doesn't even have a word for this level of homesickness. Get off my case!"

Tezla kept his head down, shy and quiet when he dared to speak again several minutes later. "I lost my family in the second world war," he told the spaceman. "My mother, my father, my brother…aunts, uncles, all gone under the Third Reich. Hitler orphaned more people than have been counted in all these years since then; I certainly wasn't the only boy made it through the camps without his parents, but I was still alone. The others didn't understand why I needed to know how, why I had to understand why; they were only too happy to hear and forget after all the tragedy. They didn't comprehend that I was trying to make the world a better place."

Harold nodded solemnly. "You have witnessed horrors I have only read about. To watch them die, and to end up here….to still try so hard after all this time, truly you are stronger than you know."

Tezla's expression was forlorn. "Not so strong that I haven't made my share of mistakes."

And it was true. Tezla may have survived the camps; he had even put all the bad memories behind him after a time. Still, after all these years, it wasn't easy. He'd gotten so used to throwing himself into his work to escape his loneliness that he'd forgotten how to act around people. He had not had a romance in twenty years, or friends in even longer. The past was the past; he'd have to deal with the consequences, and Tezla had learned to accept that.

"My work is my life," he said. "I used to think the Wheel of Power could be used as a clean energy source for the world, but any attempt to utilize it made it apparent that our technology couldn't handle voltage that high. But there had to be a reason something so amazing was left to us! Why did the Accelerons give us such a wondrous gift?"

Harold leaned back against the two-way mirror, steepled fingers resting on his belly. A sedate smile marked his face.

"Ah," he said calmly. "Now we get to the heart of the matter."

"Why were you sent here, Harold?"

"First, you must come to realize I am not the first of my kind," Harold told him. "Every generation, one was sent to Earth to act as a guardian, biding their time until the Wheel was discovered for what it was."

Tezla's eyes widened in disbelief. "Do you mean to tell me there have been Accelerons living among humans for all these millennia?"

"Not exactly," Harold said. "We didn't bother sending guardians until the industrial revolution, around the time steam locomotives were becoming popular. I'm only the fourth to be placed here." He chuckled. "We were beginning to think your technology would never catch up with your beautiful art and music. Did you know 'Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds' is literally the most popular song in this galaxy?"

Tezla stared blankly at the guardian. "Good God, you're serious."

"You have no idea."


	18. Space Oddity

As it turned out, the Ultimate Race was not as ultimate as the humans once thought.

The Accelerons were an advanced and peaceful race who did not approve of war. War was costly—a squandering of life, destroying all it touched and creating uninhabitable wastelands where once there were lush biomes. Of course, as long as there were two living beings in the universe, there would still be conflict, but surely there were better ways to solve said conflicts than wholesale destruction.

Sending a small group of champions from each of the conflicted peoples to compete in a test of speed, skill and wits seemed much preferred to war—indeed the Accelerons were not even the first to come to such a conclusion; long before, a race of energy beings called the Sentients had attempted something much the same. The Sentients had created a number of interdimensional 'Battle Zones' to serve this purpose for the universe, but their own people had ignored this option in favor of civil war and the species had been decimated.

In the ancient times of their people's youth, the Accelerons had a great festival to which would flock the most skilled, swift and spirited of their society to compete in front of a roaring crowd; first on foot, then mounted on animals, and then with vehicles more and more advanced as time marched on. Above all, their people prized speed and efficiency, and the less inconvenienced others were by their actions, the better. But also did the Accelerons treasure joy for they knew that life was fleeting. For this reason did they thrill at competition, and for this reason did they provide the festival with musical entertainment.

Eons later, the Accelerons developed the technology to create interdimensional portals which thereby allowed them to visit other worlds more easily and efficiently. They became acquainted with the peoples of other planets. Soon they learned the story of the Sentients and how the twin species warring had left them open for attack from a primitive warrior race. Somehow the Vandals had stumbled ass over elbows across the portals to the Sentient Battle Zones and to the Sentient home world, nearly eradicating them. To this very day, only traces of their once great civilization remained.

The story of the Sentients and how they brought about their own end struck a chord with the Accelerons. Learning their history from an objective standpoint, the mistake they made was clear: the pocket dimensions utilized for competition were still places of combat. Sure, a small group of champions could be sent into a battle zone, but so could reinforcements, and eventually one could overwhelm one's opponents and invade their home world.

The formulae and programs utilized by the Acceleron portal matrix did not allow for any drivers to go through a portal to a planet they did not come from under normal circumstances. Indeed, Earth's AcceleRacers were part of a very small and exclusive club to have figured out a loophole in this program in which when two or more vehicles are attached when moving through an exit portal, the largest vehicle's point of origin would dictate where the vehicles would end up. The few peoples to figure this out, however, were unfortunate enough to have received the series of Drones whose flawed programming had resulted in them behaving in a distinctly omnicidal manner.

The Drones. It always came back to the killer Drones, didn't it? The terminator scenario.

It was an easy enough mistake to make; surely, the Accelerons were not even the first to make it. A simple failure in logic by an altruistic individual who thought robots who could learn and had free will to a certain extent would be good creatures; that they would not resent being abandoned on a small, insignificant planet in a galaxy that had yet to develop interstellar travel. That they would not resent the most tedious task of observing the disgusting life forms kill each other until they developed vehicles and _then_ race them.

The scientist's only defense was that it seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, the drones had the knowledge and capability to manufacture more of themselves, and had managed to all but wipe out the life forms they were charged with observing before the Accelerons stepped in. Thankfully, only three sets of the defective drones were ever deployed, and a part of their programming they could not ignore kept them on the planets they were sent to, at least until there was no intelligent life left there. With the end of Earth's ordeal, the final set was defeated and destroyed, and the Accelerons could rest easy in the knowledge that their mess had finally been cleaned up.

With the main problem solved, with Earthlings hailed as the ones to endure the deadly, defective Drones with the fewest casualties, there was now plenty of time to focus on the more enjoyable things in life: the festival held roughly every four and a half Earth years, when all three of Zelrain's moons were full, and roaring crowds gathered in the capitol to watch the brave and daring race through their obstacle courses, past monsters rare and dangerous, against peoples never before encountered, with beautiful, exotic music to sooth their ears between. The definitive, multileg, interdimensional race; the greatest challenge to the brave and the bold from the planets that passed the test of the Wheel.

The Celestial Grand Prix, time-honored tradition of the people of Zelrain.

* * *

While Harold gave Tezla the full story, Jimmy stalked around the base as if it were his home turf. He strutted around like a pint-sized peacock, oozing hormones and the promise of an hour in heaven. More sinfully delicious than the darkest chocolate cake, he casually strolled past male guards with a respectful nod, winked and grinned at female guards, but kept walking even when the ladies (and even a few gentlemen) of Area 53 offered to join him. No, tonight, our purple-haired guitar hero had a certain special quarry in mind, someone more elusive than the loose women (and men!) who stood watch in those hallowed halls—tonight, he was loaded for bear.

It was not all that difficult for Jimmy to seduce most women, even those already in "committed" relationships. His seventh grade Spanish teacher, married with two young children, had taught him that everyone had a different definition of commitment—all infidelities were not created equal; some people did not really care for monogamy, in spite of trying to fit a certain image, and were ready to have an affair at a moment's notice.

Karma Eiss was not one of those people by any means. She was fastidious, precise, and stubborn; an absolute perfectionist. Some would think that might make it easier to let her hair down, that subconsciously, she might even want to. Well, maybe she did, but unless Jimmy's silver tongue could utter just the right combination of syllables, it would not happen. She was a bright young lady and would not fall for clumsy tricks.

What Jimmy was really banking on was her relationship with Tone Pasaro. He had only secondhand knowledge of the dead boyfriend, but the guy sounded like he was a bit of a screw-up when he was still breathing. What was it with girls, thinking they could "fix" guys, make them into lifelong mate material? Some guys were just jerks and there was nothing to be done about it.

"Case in point, hypocrite," he muttered.

"What was that?" Karma asked.

Jimmy looked up in surprise; he had come to his target area without even realizing it.

The rec-room was a spacious common room near the gym, set up as a combination library and games room. There were skylights, comfy couches, three gorgeous HDtvs, a couple of PS3s, a Wii, some computers, shelves of old books… The carpeting was a tacky shade of coral, but the room was cheery, and if one could stand the lousy décor no longer, there was always the terrace through the sliding glass doors, with its marginally comfortable patio furniture and its view of the desert floor.

At the moment, they were alone, and Jimmy smiled in a manner girls thought of as troubled. "Oh, hello there, Karma," he said in a saddened tone. "Didn't know anyone was here. I'll bug out…"

"No, it's okay," Karma said. She looked at him with concern, and Jimmy inwardly applauded his own deviousness. He looked away from her, pretending that he did not dare to meet her eyes, and brushed a lock of purple hair behind his ear.

"Forget it, sweetheart, I just need to be alone right now." He turned as if to leave, and huffed for good measure. Jimmy did not have to take a single step before she gently put a hand on his elbow to pull him back. Jimmy looked up from under his eyebrows, intensely smoldering.

"We're all stuck on this base together," she told him, thinking she had discerned what was bothering him, and Jimmy figured he would run with it. "You're not the only one cramped in the same place. You think just because you're a rockstar flying all over the world that it's not just as hard for the rest of us? We've got families and friends on the outside, too, Jimmy. We've all got lives."

"It must be so nice, to have your lover here with you," Jimmy mused. "You're a wise soul, Eiss. Taro has no idea how lucky he is."

"Please," she said, "call me Karma."

Jimmy smiled.

* * *

Peter Tezla stared with awe, letting his hand relax as he finished his notes. He blinked a few times as he tried to find words to express his amazement.

"So…so the realms are an olive branch. A message of peace?"

"An invitation to participate in what we love most," Harold confirmed. "And if you are ready, we would love to have you visit us. However, there are a few matters to take care of beforehand, cosmic brother. This 'Ultimate Race' you spoke of—I take it the Wheel reconfigured to lead you through multiple realms in short order and on to the Sphere?"

"Yes," Tezla intoned proudly. "We were distracted by an attack on our base from the Drones, but one driver managed to make it through to the end, alongside Gelorum."

"Ah, yes, the lead Drone assigned to command Earth's cadre. She was said not to take losing extremely well." This was the understatement of the decade.

"The driver made it all the way to the Sphere utilizing only his own skills, while Gelorum used every Accelecharger at her disposal throughout the race. They tied at the finish line, but the Acceleron waiting at the end said Vert won—"

"Because he performed to the best of his abilities and did not accept outside help," Harold said, nodding. "Extra points for tenacity on that one. It's alright to use power-ups like the accelechargers and hyperpods, but it is more admirable to survive by one's wits."

"To be sure."

"So, who was the driver? Is he on base?"

"Yes. Vert Wheeler was the winner."

Harold laughed. "No fooling? I didn't think the little surfer dude had it in him." He nodded and smiled in approval. "Well, the first driver to make it to the Sphere is supposed to be brought to Zelrain immediately, but I take it he respectfully declined so as to help his fellows?"

"Indeed. We were nearly overcome by the Drones; if Vert hadn't returned when he did…"

Harold nodded gravely. "I'll have to talk to him soon about his experience. Since he made first contact, tradition dictates that he's captain of Team Earth when they visit Zelrain—along with Earth's musical representatives and their scientist."

Tezla was very quiet, staring off in to space. More than anything, he had wanted to meet an Acceleron face to face, to see their world. There was so much he could learn from them. With cleaner energy sources and more efficient technology gleaned from interplanetary relations, there would be less for humans to fight over in the world. One of the biggest reasons for war was a lack of resources in the aggressor nation. With that out of the way, interactions would slowly become less hostile, until finally other more ridiculous reasons like religious and racist beliefs could be overcome by wiser, more tolerant peoples—though that would probably take a while.

"I have wanted for so long, and worked so very hard, to one day be able to see the home world of the Accelerons."

"Hey, now, don't knock your own planet. I've had some great times here on Earth."

"Like seeing the 13th Floor Elevators in San Francisco?" he asked with a smirk.

"Indeed, cosmic brother," Harold replied wistfully. "I ended up moving in with that girl and her friends, you know. We all lived in this funky little Victorian boardinghouse on the side of a hill and went out partying together. I lived in the attic, and she had a room on the second floor where she could watch the sunset through this big bay window. The sunsets on Cherry Hill were beautiful before all that smog…"

Tezla furrowed his brow. "You know, I lived on Cherry Hill for a little while before I went to college, also in a Victorian boardinghouse. I lived in the basement, though, and I didn't really socialize much compared to my housemates."

Harold's silver eyes flashed with recognition. "Peter Tezla is Petey-boo? Petey-boo the bogeyman, haunting the basement like only a bogeyman can?"

"Oh good god, Harold the hairless hippie with the groovy green thumbs! You were the only one without a beard!" Tezla laughed, shaking his head. "You grew pot in the attic."

"And you," Harold said, shooting him a meaningful look, "cooked up LSD in the basement."

"I was saving up for college! Times were tough," he said defensively. "And anyway, the statute of limitations expired decades ago…"

Harold raised his four-fingered hands, calling a truce. "Fair enough, Petey-boo. But I bet the drivers would love to know about your wilder days."

"Can we please just change the subject? What about the Troubadours? What's the point of that?"

"Well, basically, they function like the Eurovision song contest, with each planet having a band represent them at the festival. There are concerts between races, with each planet getting to showcase their talent and culture for those attending the festival and those watching at home. There is actually one particular track where the Troubadours are actually required to play while their planet's drivers are racing—usually, there'll be some giant creature that needs to be soothed to sleep, maybe a puzzle or something that needs certain notes and tempo, and the gates to the realms themselves can only be opened by the truly passionate. For the most part, however, they're for entertainment purposes. We've always included music in the festival, why stop now?"

Tezla stroked his goatee. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Oh, and, uh, confidentially, Pete," he said, "even if your drivers aren't up to scratch by the next festival, I can almost guarantee Earth will have the best band there."

"You really think so, Harold?"

"I always knew those kids were great, and the Wheel hath spoken. They are the One True Band."

Tezla smirked at him. "Well, then, all that's left to focus on are the drivers."

Harold grinned at him with those sharp teeth. Having to work on the portals and relations between Earth and Zelrain with one of his old housemates was too perfect for words, albeit a strange coincidence. Thank goodness they had gotten along! "This is going to be an interesting partnership."


	19. Of Wolf and Man

Vert wandered the halls, avoiding all human contact. He didn't care how suspicious he looked; he just needed to be alone. There was so much going on, so much to figure out.

What was wrong with him? Was he so much worse than his brother that Nona could never like him? Or had the Goth twin done something to hurt her—something she was reminded of when she saw Vert?

How dare Mikki keep something like this from him? He had no right. He knew for a fact how Vert felt about Nona, and he never thought for a second that Vert needed to know? Of course he never stood a chance if she felt so strongly about Mikki—any idiot could have figured that out. And yet he hid it, deliberately, from Vert, knowing how vital the information was. What Mikki had done was tantamount to a declaration of war. Nona was _his._

Vert smoldered quietly, trying to clear his thoughts. That wasn't right; Nona was a person, not some ragdoll. You couldn't claim dibs on a girl who wouldn't have you, no matter how much you wanted her.

Vert was completely at a loss. He had no idea what to do, what to say. He was a young man, not quite grown up, and he missed his father. He had wanted to be alone.

And now that he was, he couldn't stand it.

He found a storage room in the recreation center for privacy despite the fact that his phone was probably bugged, a first aid kit and some dumb bells his only company. Vert hoped his father was home.

"Hello?" The voice on the line was apprehensive, almost not daring to believe.

"Hey, Dad," Vert said. "Are you busy? I…I wanted to talk."

Major Jack Wheeler jumped down his son's throat. "Josef Vladimir Wheeler, where have you been? I've been worried sick about you!"

"Dad, I—"

"I've had it up to _here_ with your antics, mister! You can't just disappear whenever you feel like it and not tell anyone. Stan Slither's freaking out; he reported you and the Foundlings missing and the army had me come back stateside until the case is closed. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!"

"Dad—Dad! I'm sorry, Dad," he said, trying to calm the man. "I didn't mean to scare you. I thought after everything, Tezla would tell you we were here."

"Tezla?" he exclaimed. The line was silent for a moment until Vert thought he heard relieved laughter.

"Dad…?"

"You were with Tezla all this time?" he asked. "Oh, I'm so glad."

Vert blinked with surprise. "Whoa, seriously?"

"It's better than the alternative. I know he had to work with SHIELD if he ever wanted to touch his research again, so at least you'll be protected." The Major paused, and when he spoke again his voice was filled with concern. "Vert, please…are you all right? Is your brother there with you?"

"Yeah, Mikki's on base," he growled. "Alec, the Foundlings, the Metal Maniacs, the Vegas crews…even some drivers from the World Race are here. We're on a SHIELD base in a desert, but I don't think I should tell you exactly where."

"Not the one that was breached by Ninjas? Oh, no!"

Dammit! "How did you hear about that and not know I was here and safe?"

"The rumor's been going around for a while now. Oh, Vert…"

"I'm sorry I worried you, but I'm okay. I'm fine, all right? Just take it easy." He sighed.

"Vert, there's something you're not telling me. What's wrong?"

Vert sighed again. "There's…there's this girl."

"Nona Maddox again?" his father asked dryly. "Give it up, son. She's out of your league."

"Gee, Dad, thanks for the vote of confidence…"

"Vert, a girl like that can have anyone she wants, but if she doesn't want you, you don't even exist to her. All you can do is move on and try to distance yourself from those feelings. Maybe someday you can still be friends, but if you keep hounding her, she'll cut you out of her life completely. You need to back off or you'll never see her again. I know it hurts, son. I'm sorry." He paused. "I want you to listen to me, Vert. There's something very important going on."

Vert perked up from his pity party, nervous. "Is everything okay?"

"You need to know why I was so worried," the Major told him. "I thought you were in danger."

Vert quieted down, listening intently to what his father had to tell him. The young blonde's expression went from one of resolve, to one of confusion, to disgust, to absolute terror, and back to confusion again. By the end of Major Wheeler's story, Vert was breathing heavily from shock and concern.

"Dad, I gotta go. I have to tell Mikki—"

"No!" he answered. "Don't tell the others, either. There's no point in worrying them when you're all safe and sound at the base. It would only affect their driving."

"Are you sure?"

"If Col. Fury had wanted them to know, then he would have told you."

Vert swallowed. "What about Boots and Tasha?"

"It's big-time international news to the entire Foundlings' fanbase and pretty much everyone else. With all the…trouble, Mikki's friends in Vegas are well informed. Gigi, Dino and all the rest know. They've all taken precautions. There's even a rumor going around that Stan Slither hired mercenaries to stand in for some of his roadies on the Twisted Tour."

"O-okay…" Vert shut his eyes, willing the madness of the world away. When he opened them again, he was still alone and still scared stiff. How could such a travesty occur without any of them knowing? "Dad?"

"Yes, Vert?"

"If you were so worried, then…how come you didn't call me?"

"I've been trying, but it wouldn't go through." The Major was quiet. "Vert, are you sure you're all right?"

"Just feeling kinda lonely." He paused. "Dad, I have to go now."

"But you promise you'll call me if you want to talk?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Tell your brother he can call me anytime, too."

"Sure thing."

"And don't forget to eat your vegetables, and remind Angie to take his medication—"

"I'm hanging up now," Vert said with a good natured chuckle.

"Okay, I love you, bye!"

Vert said goodbye and pushed the end button on his iPhone. His face was grim; this changed the game a bit. There was no time left to be angry if things were that far downhill—but they were safe on base, right? …Right?

Ninjas.

Fuck! But…this was a civilian threat! Ninjas were trained from childhood to be killers and soldiers. They could get past almost anyone! This… They…this was nothing like that, right? To be sure, she was incredibly dangerous, but she had no military training. Without a doubt, she would be all over America's Most Wanted, captured any minute now. …Right?

Aww, man…Angie was going to blow a gasket if he learned Vert was keeping this from him. If anyone had a right to know, the poor, insane little drummer boy did. The kid was not by any means stupid—a little absent minded, maybe, easily distracted by the voices in his head. Angie was, however, more perceptive than people gave him credit for, and a lot brighter than Vert was. He would know something was up. If Vert could just make sure he didn't spill the beans, it might all just blow over.

Maybe.

He hoped…

* * *

There was still another week before the next full moon, and Dan's teeth were killing him. He paced the floor, trying to get his impulses under control; something about the last song that played, the anger and bitter disappointment it expressed had gotten to him. He was hungry, just as he almost always was—these days, Dan never started to feel full until after the first pound of meat. He could smell everything—why did Porkchop always stink like peanut butter and bacon?—he could hear everything—Mark and Mel needed to get a room. Dan was crawling in his skin, ready to snap. Maybe some time in the base's gym was in order. Maybe he would hit the punching bag or go for a swim.

Dan froze as a scent hit him, giving in completely to his instincts.

* * *

Taro heard a gentle mewling as he neared the cafeteria and looked about. His recently adopted kitten, Manny, had become something of a mascot in the garage as of late, and liked to go exploring. The other drivers were becoming quite fond of her (except maybe Krakatoa, but he was allergic) and kept her in a safe and friendly environment. Eventually, though, she always came back to Taro, demanding her rightful place on top of his skull. Today was no different.

"You have legs," Taro scolded as the tiny kitten jumped from his grasp and onto his cranium. "Why don't you use them?"

"Mrow," she said, snuggling into his scalp. That was the end of the conversation.

Cats were great. They tolerated you as long as you fed them. They were playful, but not needy like dogs. They did not expect much of you, and were easy to communicate with. Occasionally, they would even do something wildly entertaining. Taro was beginning to think he preferred cats to people. Why had he not gotten one sooner?

As he passed over the threshold of the on-base cafeteria, Taro was stopped in his tracks by a low growl. He nonchalantly glanced towards the source, backing away slowly. Manny tensed.

Dan Dresden advanced on Taro, teeth bared. He growled, focused on the pair. The stubble on his chin seemed to grow at least an inch as he slowly stepped forward, opening his mouth in a snarl.

"Dan, it's me," Taro said in an even tone. "Calm down."

Manny hissed and yowled, jumping from Taro's head and bolting down the hallway. Dan tore after her on all fours, snapping his jaws and barking madly.

"Neko-chan!" Taro shrieked, and ran after them.

Manny booked it down the corridor, leaning into every turn as she zigged and zagged out of Dan's grasp until she hit the garage. Dan sped up and turned to cut off the kitten's path, but at the last second, the tiny feline faked right and went left, directly underneath Angie's van, just out of the howling-mad racer's reach. Dan failed to stop in time and slammed his head against the wheel well with a resounding clunk. Morrison's chassis rattled against its frame as Dan flailed his arms beneath the undercarriage in a vain attempt to capture Manny.

Angie, who had been on the roof of his van meditating over the meaning of life, the universe, and everything, scrambled to look over the side and watch the scene unfold.

"Hey," he said. "Hey! Naughty! Bad Dan, get away from my van! …Heheh, that rhymed."

Dan looked up at Angie, growled, and ignored him in favor of the cat.

Angie frowned. The full moon was not for another week and Dan was already half transformed. Perhaps the infection was more powerful than he thought. He shook his head. He wasn't an animal; Dan was still in there, just like before, but he was going to need a little push to bring him back.

"Daaaaaan, Danny-pie—sorry, I know you hate it when I call you that. Daniel Derek Dresden, you pay attention to me!" Angie shouted. He fought against his gentler nature, glaring right back down at the werewolf who leered at him.

Dan's eyes were a muddy yellow color, his face in a full beard. He licked his chops hungrily, never breaking Angie's gaze. He gathered himself, ready to pounce, and let Manny run back to Taro. This human who now had his attention would make a better meal, anyhow.

"Taro," Angie said, never breaking eye contact with the beastly man, "back away slowly. Don't make any noise or sudden movements. I got this."

Taro did as he was told, quietly cuddling his frightened kitten; it was only logical…even if it was cowardly.

Dan growled in challenge, baring his fangs. Angie readied himself, knowing he had no alternative; if he was going to get through this, he would have to channel his inner mother.

Now, one must understand that Angie's biological mother was only considered human in the most rudimentary sense of the word. Cecilia Halloran had physically and psychologically abused her own child to the breaking point, as some of his closest friends—and those who had read the true crime books—knew all too well. She had murdered so many men over the years she qualified for the evilympics. There was a venom in her words, an absolute authority, that could drive anyone mad with fear. The woman had no conscience, no compassion, an absolute hatred of all living things and an obsessive need for control.

One of the nastiest voices in Angie's head was that of the woman who gave him life.

It was a dangerous gamble, allowing an alternate personality out on a rampage, but it was infinitely less dangerous than a werewolf traipsing about trying to eat people, and the Mother Person, as Angie had named her in therapy years before, was the only one who could stand up to such a monster.

"_Sit still, for Christ's sake, you clueless little piss-face!"_ Angie bellowed. _"Think you're so special? You are __nothing,__ you insignificant worm!"_

The volume and tone of his voice, reverberating with anger, startled and confused Dan. He tensed, backing off an inch, no longer sure of himself. Even Taro found himself trying to become small and boring off in his corner in the hopes that no one would notice him.

"_You're in it now, you worthless pile of human excrement—DON'T YOU DARE LOOK AWAY FROM ME."_ Angie hopped over the side to stand before the wary werewolf, brandishing a rolled up copy of Rolling Stone. _"Get over here! Where do you think you're going, halfwit? Filthy wretch, you're not getting off that easy."_ He whacked Dan across the muzzle, and the beastly man jumped back a foot, yelping. _"BAD. DOG."_

The Mother Person grabbed a still stunned Dan Dresden by his shirt collar, punching him across the face. _"You pathetic waste of life and limb, you're even more worthless than your father was. I should have killed you in the womb and saved myself the disappointment."_

"Ow! Dammit, Halloran, that actually hurt!" Dan exclaimed, catching Angie's fist before he could deliver another blow. But one look into his feverish blue eyes revealed a frightening truth. This was not Angie anymore. The engine was running, but someone else was at the wheel.

Dan hit the ground, backhanded by this…this person, whoever it was. For someone his size, he was pretty powerful. All that drumming did his arms wonders, and it occurred to him a crazy person would not think to pull their punches. Dazed, Dan looked up slowly at the shattering sound, and the scent of blood filled his nostrils. Rather than stir his beastly side to hunt, however, the smell made him cower with an alkaline horror.

Angie, or whoever was in control now, looked down at him in utter contempt. Gripped tightly in his hand was a large shard of broken glass from the van's windshield. The glass cut into his hand, but it would make a sufficient weapon nonetheless. Dan backpedaled, too scared and too human to think of anything to do.

"_This is what you get for turning away from me, Angelo. You should have listened to Mommy Dearest."_

Angie's face twisted in disgust, and he threw the shard away. His hands flew to his ears. "No, no, NO! Stop it!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth. "Stop—I said cut it out already! I'm the one running this show, you are not the boss of me—well, what makes you think I care? It's **my** body!"

"_He is our prize,"_ he snarled, turning back to Dan, but Angie forced himself to turn away again.

"Shut up, shut up you filthy whore! Get out of my head!" Angie howled in frustration, falling to his knees, his expression resolved. "Go back in your cage where you belong. You are not welcome here."

"_One day, youngling,"_ he said to himself, _"you will let me out and not have the strength to put me back in that hole. On that day…we will watch the world burn."_

Angie smirked. "Love you too, mom." With a grunt of effort, Angie willed the door of his mind shut. He slapped his bleeding hand down on the concrete, holding on to the pain to bring himself back to reality. Slowly, cautiously, he brought himself up onto his feet, leaning against the van for support. Battling one's inner demons sure took a lot out of a guy; Angie was exhausted.

"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Probably shouldn't have let the witch out in the first place. I'm really sorry about that, Dan…Dan? Dan?"

While Angie was arguing with himself, Dan Dresden had taken shelter beneath the van. It was a tight fit, despite his smaller human form, and there were pipes and stuff digging into his back, but anything was better than being exposed to that lunatic. Maybe if he was really quiet, Angie would go away.

Dan yelped, bumping his head on Morrison's undercarriage when he saw the icy blue eyes peering underneath the wheel well. He attempted to scoot further away, but found he was quite stuck. It was silly, really. Why was he suddenly so frightened? Was it because he was in human form? But even if Dan had been a wolf at the time, he would have been cowering like a scolded puppy. Angie had asserted dominance as the pack leader and even when the beast took over, Dan would always listen to him.

"Are you okay, Danny-pie?" Angie asked gently. His eyes softened. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't mean for that to get out of hand. I just didn't want you to hurt Taro or Manny, but someone killed my wolfsbane plant and I don't have the necklace on me. You think you'll be all right? I had to hit you, but I didn't want to do it, I'm a pacifist!"

"For a pacifist, you've got some right hook!" Dan called out, whining slightly.

"He wouldn't have needed to hit you if you hadn't chased my cat!" Taro yelled back. Manny hissed in disapproval, burrowing into his arms.

"You're not hurt, are you, Taro?" Angie asked frantically.

Taro was fine, but he gave Manny a quick once over. "We're good," he said.

"That's good, but you should come to the infirmary with us just in case." Angie kneeled back down and reached his good hand under Morrison. "Come on out, Dan. It's okay, mother went back in her box. We're safe now."

Dan knew it was foolish to argue with a crazy man, least of all one who just tried to kill him. Though Angie did seem to be in a better mood…and he had such a sad and sorry look on his face; he must have felt just awful about it. Perhaps if he played along for now, he could get away from Angie later. Of course, first he would have to get out from under this van…

Dan reluctantly squirmed until he could take Angie's hand, and the drummer pulled him out. He apologized to Taro, none too surprised to see the SHIELD agents waiting to escort them (though he did roll his eyes at the fact none of them had interfered in the whole ordeal).

All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. Little did they know, it would soon be just that.


	20. A Little South of Sanity

A/N: Things are winding down now! Soon, the eventual ending may be more obvious. I mean, I really wanted to do a gourth part to the Marvels Among Us saga, but I think I might just shorten it to a trilogy. I'm not sure yet. I haven't decided anything. I suppose I could just shorten the Celestial Grand Prix to an epilogue, but I don't know... I kind of wanted St. Jimmy to stop sleeping around and find true love with an alien... Hrmm. I shall have to think about it. Anyway, another chapter!

* * *

"…And I guess that's all there really is to say," he finished. "I lived, and that's that. But I…I have hope for the future…if I can only learn from her mistakes."

The psychologist (psychiatrist? He could never remember which) nodded. "That's a good attitude to have, Mr. Halloran. You've taken a very analytical stance on your childhood, you know."

"I just feel like if I can, I dunno, maybe figure out what went wrong and where, I can stop it from happening again. Like maybe if I can just take things as they come and roll with, keep calm and carry on, I won't…won't end up like…her."

"I understand your concern," she said, "but I don't believe it's a valid one."

"Excuse me?" Angie said, mildly offended.

"Your mother may have been a mess, no buts about it, but you aren't her. You are you. The fact that you try so hard… Angie, I've read your files, and from these few short talks we've had, it's plain to me that you are a deeply compassionate person with a moderate set of family values. You're troubled, it's true, but you've responded extremely well to therapy, and it seems like you have a very loyal, supportive circle of friends."

He smiled. "Mikki's been very patient with me. I'm lucky I met him when I did."

"Not just Mikki. His brother, Vert, and his friend Alec Wood also stood up for you after the Realm of Eternal Night. They were adamant that you be allowed to stay. And of course, there were Nona and Jimmy—"

"Well, they go without saying."

"—And now Harold is here for you, as well. He sold you your first drum kit, didn't he? Introduced you to Led Zeppelin and The Who?"

"I'd been learning bits here and there at school," he said with a nod. "I wanted to be able to practice more, but I was afraid to ask for anything from my foster parents. I didn't think I deserved nice things... Harold asked around and called Dino up, told him how I'd been hanging around. I was so surprised when we pulled up to Kashmir…" He laughed. "Dino was so nice, usually, but there he was, drilling Harold on what the best makes were for each and every piece, who had the best acoustics, the most durable equipment. Harold just cobbled together the absolute best of what he had and said a sweet kid like me deserved…deserved the finest."

"Hmm."

Angie wiped a tear from his eye. "He gave me pointers on rhythm, got me up to speed on all the greats: Buddy Rich, Keith Moon, John Bonham, and newer drummers like Tre Cool, Fat Mike, Torry Castellano…He helped me find my passion. He even introduced me to Nona and Jimmy. I wouldn't be here without him."

"Did it come as a shock to find that your old friend was…not of this Earth?"

Angie shrugged. "I always said Harold was out of this world, a real space case; I guess I wasn't that far off the mark."

"Or you had known of the connection previously, perhaps."

"What? No, don't be silly."

"So, you're saying," the doctor continued, "that you just happened to guess that Harold was an Acceleron?"

Angie looked at her quizzically. "Um, no. Wait, what are you talking about? I think you lost me."

"When Harold arrived, you were the one who said, and this is a quote now—" here she paused, glancing at her clipboard— " 'No way, that's too coincidental. A portal's not going to just randomly open for someone close and personal to us… The portal opening for you in particular was all part of a plan…the Accelerons' plan.' This is what you said, correct?"

"Well, it did seem kind of coincidental, and I guess I've seen enough weirdness in my life that I'm a little superstitious. By the laws of drama, it made perfect sense—what are you writing down there? Hey, seriously, now!"

"What kind of attitude had Harold been exhibiting when you saw him last? Did he give any clues that something strange was going to happen?"

"No, he just wished us luck on the sales of our new album…" Angie narrowed his eyes. "You're not really a licensed psychologist, are you?"

The 'doctor' looked up in surprise. "What?"

Angie's face contorted with disgust. "This isn't therapy, it's an interrogation! All you care about is Harold! I thought this was protected under doctor-patient privilege!"

"Now, now, Mr. Halloran, this is SHIELD we're talking about. You really thought I wasn't going to tell my superiors what you had to say?"

"Every time I think you people can't sink any lower…" Angie said, shaking his head. He stood up and made for the door, but suddenly turned to shout at his 'doctor.' "How irresponsible can you get? I could be in the middle of a psychotic episode and they send in a plain vanilla agent to interrogate me about a fucking space alien!"

He opened the door to three very tall and heavily muscled men in SHIELD uniforms. Slowly his gaze traveled upwards to their pitiless faces.

"Would you care to sit back down, Mr. Halloran?"

"Well, fuck, doctor," Angie said. "I suppose I had better."

"Please," she told him, uncrossing and crossing her legs, "Call me Agent Darkholme."

Angie sheepishly tottered back to his seat. "Yes, Agent Darkholme. Thank you, Agent Darkholme."

She smiled. "For the record, I am perfectly qualified for this job and have multiple degrees. I just happen to work for a world security organization. Unfortunately, there are some cases where doctor-patient privilege goes right out the window, but that's that."

He nodded dumbly, but said nothing.

"Now, as for your concerns about the psychotic episode, I believe you did have one, and we're going to keep you under observation for a bit, but I think you showed remarkable control. We should just be glad no one was harmed." She paused, glancing at her clipboard. "According to you files, however, you've been getting increasingly unstable over the past two years; first that incident on the roof of your friend's nightclub—and what was it leading up to that? You said people were breaking in to song and dance?"

"It's what I said. It's silly, of course, but…" Angie blushed, looking away. "Well, it's what I was seeing and hearing for about a month there."

"And then early the summer after that, you disappeared into the forests of Northern California, just wandered off the beach where the Wheeler brothers were surfing and into the trees for three weeks. Some hunters finally found you snarling like an animal and wearing nothing but a bear skin and your boxer shorts."

"That owl fucking smiled at me! I had to follow it!

Agent Darkholme smirked in a condescending manner. "Owls can't smile. They don't have teeth."

"Well this one did," he insisted. "And the little fucker winked at me, too!"

"Hmm, yes, well, in any case, I think you've started to outgrow clozaril. It doesn't seem to be working for you anymore." She pursed her lips grimly. "The accidental overmedication you were subjected to in the beginning stages of you illness, combined with the multitude of times you've had to be sedated… It would seem you've built up a tolerance to quite a number of drugs. We're going to have to try something else."

Angie rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair, putting his palm to his forehead. "Oh, great. A new drug that's going to affect my system in unpredictable ways. This is going to be awesome."

"First, of course, we're going to have to put you in isolation where you can't hurt anyone and will be kept from harming yourself. The last of the clozaril should be out of system in four days. At the end of the fifth day, you'll be started on zipraisidone. Once you've calmed down a bit, you'll be allowed to start mixing with the drivers and staff again. Sound good?"

"Yeah, just dandy," he deadpanned. It was going to be a long week.

* * *

It was difficult to be a responsible adult; this was a truth Vert had learned the hard way over the past four years or so. Letting go of one's ideals, keeping secrets… Sure, he had his dream job. He got to ride a skateboard for a living. That wasn't work; it took a lot of skill and a measure of self-destructiveness, but it never felt like work. He even got to indulge in his other passion, racing, and through the most epic interdimensional race tracks. Yet with such a crazy life, sometimes he just wanted to be normal.

Maybe he would have been a loser. Maybe he would have burned out or faded away. But his driving was to save the world last time around, and the pressure almost killed him.

What had scared Vert so much when he learned of Mikki's suicidal tendencies was the fact that he understood them. Losing his mother had hit him so hard, and Mikki had tried to kill himself within a week of that. Vert had felt that pain, the need for it all to just go away. Being that they were twins…maybe on some level, Mikki had felt what Vert was going through. Maybe he had sensed it and come to the logical conclusion.

After leaving the Acceledrome the first time, after running off from responsibility, Vert had felt that same emptiness. He couldn't save Kadeem. He couldn't win the Accelechargers. He had peaked too soon and would never again be good enough. They were all going to die because he was an idiot. He couldn't handle the pressure and he just wanted it to go away. There were so many cliffs on the Old Coast Road, so many perfect places to watch a beautiful sunset over the ocean and the craggy rocks below…

He could not help but feel this way again as he adjusted the way he leaned against the wall in the storage room. Here they were, stuck in this godforsaken place. The woman he loved wanted him to die. His friends were all excelling and leaving him in the dust—Vert had lost the fifth most races out of all the drivers; he wasn't improving with practice, he was getting worse. And now, this tragedy.

The major had sounded so tired. He hadn't wanted to worry his son, but Vert had heard his fear as he explained that Cecilia Halloran had escaped the day of the party. The way his voice shook when he told the story of how, three days after they had jumped at Tezla's call, the family next door to the Wheeler residence had been slain. Vert's stomach flopped as he remembered their two little girls running around the cul-de-sac with the other neighborhood children, blowing bubbles, jumping through puddles in the soft summer rain… Those children were dead. Their parents were dead. Even their beagle puppy was dead.

Jack had still been overseas, he said, though he would not say where. But a quadruple homicide so close to home… The man's confidence was beginning to fragment, his son was sure. Life was so much easier when morality was black and white, but there were so many shades of grey. Why couldn't all the villains wear ridiculous costumes? Why did some of them like casual soccer mom type attire? Why did so many monsters have to look just like mommy and daddy? If all the killers just had some identifying trait, like the mark of Cain in the bible. She was pretty, Cecilia, but she was not gorgeous, had no tattoos, birthmarks, unusual coloring or freckles. She would fade into a crowd like a ghost. Maybe she would be caught soon, but she could be anywhere. The United States were so big… There were so many places to hide, and she had gone undetected for _ten years _the last time. If she kept up the pattern of travelling around for victims, popping up in new places all the time, if she changed her appearance a little with some hair dye or different clothes, Cecilia might be in the wind for decades, a distant memory like Jack the Ripper.

Poor Angie was going to have a fit when he learned his monstrous mommy dearest was on the loose.

Vert sighed as he turned the door handle of the storage room door, steeling himself for the harsh reality of life. Almost immediately he ducked back into the storage room, closing the door behind him and holding his breath.

"Did you hear something?" Jimmy asked.

"Who cares?" the young woman replied. "Don't be so nervous, come here…"

Vert's face flushed a deep shade of red, though no one was there to see it. He had caught only a glimpse of her face, but from the shoulder length brown hair and almost bored tone of voice, he was sure Karma Eiss was now tasting forbidden fruit. Weren't Edogawa and Taro supposed to be close friends? What kind of friend fondles your girlfriend, who was apparently willing? Oh, very willing indeed… While Vert pondered the grey morality of it, a primal part of him triumphed at seeing Karma's bare breasts. He knew it was wrong, so very very wrong, but he was too embarrassed to interrupt them.

Taro and Karma were adults, he decided. They could solve their own personal problems. It was none of his business that Taro's girlfriend was schtupping some other guy. They had never been particularly close anyway.

Vert quietly ignored the ecstatic sounds coming from the other side of the door and hoped neither of them would notice he was hiding in the closet.

* * *

As soon as the guards escorted Angie to the 'isolation suite,' a padded cell with a bullet-proof two-way mirror too high on the wall to be reached, Agent Darkholme left to report her findings to Col. Fury.

"That's all he had to give up?"

"He had nothing to do with it. He guessed, and that was all." She shifted into her natural form, that of a blue-skinned woman with red hair and yellow eyes; the mutant, former terrorist, former super model, former auditor for the Internal Revenue Service, was working for SHIELD for the time being thanks to a favor from an old friend. Mystique was the ultimate spy and could read people better than anybody, perhaps just as well or better than most telepaths. "The boy's out of his gourd, but he's telling the truth, or at least what he thinks is true. Why'd you want me to interview him, anyway?"

"There's something I don't like about this kid. He always seems to know something."

"He could just be guessing. The strange can sometimes see things that the normal ignore."

"Even the lyrics to songs he wrote months, even years ago, seem to have key information pertaining to this project." Fury stood, pacing uneasily around the office. "Anything could have happened during those three weeks last summer; he might not have been in the woods the whole time. And then there were those people breaking into song and dance the summer before that."

She raised her eyebrows. "But that was just a hallucination."

"No, it wasn't," Fury sighed. "It happened all over Clark County in Nevada for several weeks. Witnesses chalked it up to some internet fad called a flash mob and participants only remembered every duet and chorus as if they were normal conversations. But what people don't know is that a few select folks in Beverly Hills and Ojai were subject to the phenomena as well. All of whom are tied to Halloran."

Mystique furrowed her brow in dismay as she watched the security feed of Angie's cell; he had been put in a straight jacket and was attempting to scratch his nose with his foot.

"Perhaps Charles Xavier would have been better for this assignment."

Fury shook his head. "No way. Last few telepaths who tried to read him are still in comas and they were on par with Emma Frost. The world can't afford to lose the prof. He's done too much good for peace and acceptance and all that jazz." He growled the next bit, partly from aggression and partly from annoyance. "Besides, we may not know what the kid is, but he sure as hell ain't a mutant. We're running blind."

"To quote the patient," Mystique said dryly, "Well, fuck."

* * *

A/N: DUN DUN DUNNNNNN! Yeah, I've been wanting to do this forever. You have no idea the awesome that is Angie. You all shall see. You all...shall see...


End file.
